Ode to a Grecian Omelet

Being, on a Saturday afternoon, in a ravenously hungry sort of mood, I endeavored to create what would become a Grecian Omelet. Having previously invited the Apple of my Eye over for some serious studying (i.e., staring soulfully into one another's ocular orbs), I wanted to cook something that would *ahem* impress the Lady Faire, as well as fill the Stomach Bare. (oh man i should really stop...)

Taking into hand four eggs from a chicken, I proceeded to crack same into a bowl and whisk them with an adorable owl whisk. (Full disclosure: I have not tested whether this recipe will work with a regular whisk.) Into the mix I also whisked approximately two tablespoons of plain yogurt. This may seem silly, but I am convinced that, in the end, it added no small degree of fluffiness -- this thing was like a souffle. I then sprinkled a few sprinkles of cumin into the bowl. I whisked again, ever so gently. Salt and pepper, which I add to everything, were added. They are the foundations of life, twin pillars upon which the solid wall may stand.

Cutting a tomato into chunks about the size of a marble (a shooter probably, one of the big ones), I thought about whether there is a balance between good and evil in the universe, and, if so, whether it needs to be constantly kept in check by the intervention of a divine Hand. Shortly thereafter, I abandoned this line of thought, as it seemed quite an impractical thing to pursue. I instead cut some green pepper, red onion, and two strips of bacon into marble-sized portions. These went into a cast-iron skillet, into which I had pooled a pool of peanut oil (said pool being about the same in diameter as a small grapefruit) on medium heat. This compote I cooked until semi-beautiful, added the tomatoes, then cooked until beautiful. I removed it from the heat.

I unceremoniously dumped the eggs-from-a-chicken mixture into the pan. I let it cook until it seemed to be about midway through the cooking process. I carefully arranged the various bits of meat and vegetables on one half of the egg mixture, along with a multitude of feta cheese chunkles. I let them melt. I flipped the enormous Thing -- so fluffy! -- over upon its side, where it reclined magnificently in the skillet like a Whale beached on a beach. I opened a thing of dill weed and shook it over the top of the Whale for a time, until I could see the green. There was food enough for two people. I served it on a breakfast tray, with two small glasses of orange juice. I am a good boyfriend.