Sunday Brunch

We made a desperate run for groceries yesterday for the first time in over a month. Actually, make that TWO grocery runs (why oh why can't a single store carry our entire list?). Before we ventured out, an inventory of our pantry had revealed a sad state of affairs: several cans of tuna, a jar of salsa and some packets of hot chocolate. Apparently, we had been relying on the we're-recovering-from-the-flu-and-taking-care-of-a-new-puppy excuse to avoid grocery shopping just as we'd been using it to justify our willful neglect of laundry, bathroom cleaning, and snow shoveling for weeks on end. Something finally had to give, though, because our lack of a properly stocked kitchen was threatening to sideline, yet again, a major household event.

You'll be happy to know that the crisis was averted, and thank god for that, since today's brunch was extra special. We dusted off the twice-used power juicer that we purchased several years ago after the infomercial had us positively convinced that living without fresh-squeezed juice is worse than not living at all, and when we had money to burn on frivolous kitchen appliances. I digress...

First up: the peels of no less than 36 oranges filling our sink. My husband would say I have an issue with exaggeration, but we seriously used two entire bags of oranges on this little endeavor:

Said oranges, waiting to be squeezed into a pitcher of liquid crack, er, sunshine:

Say hello to my husband and his buddy, Jack LaLanne...

I see a few drops! Good to know that 36 oranges yields at least a shot glass of juice.

Now we're cooking. Screwdrivers, anyone? No? More for me! Don't look at me like that...it's almost noon!

Hello, delicious! A little thick and syrupy for my taste, but it's nothing a little H2O (or vodka)won't fix.

Fresh-squeezed orange juice is nice and all, but the greatness of the Sunday brunch staple that is banana pancakes should not be underestimated:

Cue the stomach growls! Meanwhile, Gordon tries to distract himself from the smell of bacon permeating the entire house by trying to figure out what to do with his first rawhide bone, unaware of the puppy-sized pancake that is being made just for him. Though there's not a photo to show it, Louie prefers to man the kitchen, keeping a hawk-eye on that aforementioned bacon:

Finally, just to prove that while this vignette demonstrates how highly cultivated we are, having brunch and everything (do I hear someone laughing out there?), we still know how to keep it real:

Maybe it's just me, but enjoying my freshly squeezed O.J. from a Biggie glass makes it that much sweeter!