Straight from the Horse's Mouth

Last night I had a dream.  It was late August, and I was 

sitting at the kitchen table staring at a stack of sliced

Jersey tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, with some kind

of balsamic vinaigrette drizzled over it.  There were shreds

of fresh basil scattered over and around it, and what 

appeared to be sauteed mushroom caps on top 

and surrounding.  I was somewhat confused, half knowing

that it was a long way til summer, yet thrilled that 

somehow I'd managed to travel forward through time to

savor the dish that I crave nine months out  of the year.

Then, as if by magic, there appeared a most brasserie-type dish:

Onglet grillé avec des oignons frits!  Hanger steak with frizzled

onions.  Anthony Bourdain, eat your heart out.  This cut of meat,

 being situated so close to the kidneys, has that oh-so-subtle 

nuance of offal offerings (I can just imagine the snide comments 

coming).  It's like no other steak you've ever had.  This is the kind

of stuff I dream about.  Tony, eat your kidneys out too.

My dream was cut short by the sight of yogurt with fresh fruit

and granola.  What did I do to deserve this?  It seemed like 

there were sirens going off and all of a sudden I felt a 

sharp pain in my ribcage.  I quickly woke up and realized I

had set the house alarm, forgetting that college daughter was

home on break, and out earlier with friends, and that she 

would actually be sleeping home tonight. The sharp pain came 

from my wife jabbing me to get up and disarm the alarm. 

Shortly thereafter, the house phone rang:

'Yes, this is so-and-so security.  We received an alert that

your security system has been tripped.  May I have your 

password please, Mr. Dog?'  Er Uh......................tomatoe?