Asparagus with poppy vinaigrette and a confused chicken.

I always keep in mind something a great chef once told me:  “Asparagus are at their best until June 22”. This is my perfect excuse to luxuriate in  asparagus morning noon and night. By June 22 I then cross the finish line and can’t look an asparagus straight on. But for now, I am still running the course!

Suggestions:

• Instead of making a vinaigrette…simple drizzle the asparagus with some oil and vinegar and sprinkle with salt an pepper just before serving.
• Add a little bundel of sprouted seeds for some crunch and good health.
• Use some green beans instead of aspaaragus.
• The same can be done with purple or white asparagus, but be sure to cook them long enough to avoid struggling with stringy asparagus.
• Green asparagus don’t need to be peeled, only break them at the ends(they will break easily at the most vulnerable point)  and rinse.
• Boil them in only enough water to cover the end parts  and halfway up the asparagus. The top leafy parts must cook in the steam of the water, or else you will eb stick with mushy asparagus or without any tops.
• Don’t overcook asparagus, they need to by JUST tender and still have some bite.
• Serve them immediately if served on their own. If served in a salad, they can stand a while.
• this recipe could be finished off with a perfectly  poached egg on top of the asparagus, my ultimate favorite way of enjoying asparagus!
• Use nigella seeds or mustard seeds or poppy seeds instead of the black lava crystals(from Hawaii) and sprinkle only a little fleur de sel.

I fly violently out of bed, hit my hand hard agains the bedside table,  instantly feeling the pain in tears. Simultaneoulsy the two cats screech off the bed, run into each other and dive for cover. A shrill squawk just outside the window,  like that of a disorientated rooster, have us all in shock. In a haze of pain and confusion, I make it down the stairs, all the while fearing my chickens are hurt; my two eight weeks old poulettes,  who conversate in dainty chirping twitters, much like young débutantes giggling on their first public appearance. Very girly. Very excited.

Ah non! There it goes again! The false shriek. We soar down the last two stairs, anxious to see what affaire is stirring outside.

There they are. Petronella and Stephanie. Happily sitting on my chair in the shade of the big umbrella. Ecstatic to see me, they storm closer in a flurry of chirps and feathers,  look eagerly  into my eyes and wait for our usual intelligent conversations.

But first I pour a strong morning coffee, just to suddenly hear a blasting shriek again, right behind me.  The cats dart off  to safety leaving me standing there alone and barefoot in my pyjamas, hand bruised and aching, staring dumbfounded at  my two grinning poulettes…could it be that I have a gay chicken….or have I been duped?

…à la prochaine!…