How To Melt Cheese.

Fact is I do not know how to melt cheese.

Another fact: if I wasn't a glutton, I would starve to death trying to cook.

On occasion I fry a pretty good steak, or get bacon, eggs, sausage, or hash browns right. Never in any combination.

I cannot make a hamburger or cheeseburger to suit me.

I cannot stomach my own chili.

If I stay on track, I can fry a passable pork chop.

I have wasted hundreds of dozens of eggs on omelets, made some that were okay, and many fewer that were really good.

But the omelet problem has been redressed. I have been introduced to a way of making good omelets every time.

The key is reductionism. Two-egg omelets, in a large, sprayed & buttered skillet, never turned.

Stir the eggs, or beat them, if you are a tad sadistic, adding a splash of water. Pour into the gently-heated low-medium skillet: you're cooking, not reducing to carbon 12. Swish around a bit (the eggs, not you) and when the eggs bubble some, add your filling stuff.

S-P-A-R-I-N-G-L-Y.

Not much stuff: too much is about the only way to screw this up.

Add any cheese you like, and as everything sets up and the cheese melts, slide your treasure onto a plate, and use the pan to fold the beauty over.

Perfect, every time.

There are only two ways to mess this up: too much "stuff", because this omelet isn't much thicker than a crepe, and the package must be kept tidy, and overcooking. Trust me on the former, and fear the latter, always.

There is a turn-in to a few acres of pretty rough meadow on the south side of Red Bridge, about half way to the trail. If I have the patience to Z-weave Mister Buckles all the way there, that meadow is my favorite place to ride since we left Crooked Creek to their dealings.

Driving past yesterday I looked over and saw a coyote, full on, ears pricked, about 30 yards in. I slowly backed up, which was an exercise where false hope trumped reality. I have no guesses, sex, age, and stuff, because it's the first coyote I have seen not spread on some fucking moron's tailgate in quite some time.

What I really miss is riding Mister Buckles in that meadow. It exits up on a dead-end road. Once, coming out, there was heavy machinery digging a pond just at the south side of the road. And there was a doe, large, standing not 30 yards away watching them work. I have no idea what kept me in the saddle. Were it a moose the shock wouldn't have been greater.

Going east on the way to the reservoir last evening, I approached an intersection, and there was a male red tail atop the first pole past. I watched until traffic built, then turned north.

Returning an hour later, he was still there. I continued south, and 100 yards on was a big girl on the left, and she flew. I looked for her, and there was a big red tail in a big tree, many yards on and many yards back from the road.

I hate to guess, and do not ever pass along shit I don't know, but birds are every bit as territorial as you and I, and it as absolutely beyond imagining it wasn't the same bird, keeping an eye on me.

There are lots of big raptors about now, and you can find and study them from the comfort of your car. Lots and lots of Indigo Buntings too, on wires, and maybe you will be the one to capture that iridescence on film. At least you can appreciate it for what it is - as good as nature has to offer, and better than we can copy. Keep in mind that 20 years ago, indigo buntings were close to endangered status, given a sickening affinity for the grills of speeding automobiles. They seem to have outlived that, which may be why they perch high, and leave the wires away from the road.

I haven't seen nearly enough Goldfinches this early summer. Not panic time, but time to go to places I have seen them in numbers before. One in particular is about a mile east of Maconaquah's (aka Frances Slocum) grave and cemetery. A chore I'm sure I'll surely enjoy.