An amusement

I noted, with no small amusement, that this morning while I pass'd by the scullery in my finery, Orpha was breakfasting upon a humble bowl of what might be termed, were she sufficiently sophisticated, bisque de pommes de terre. Naturally, it was not a proper bisque, not being composed of fruits de mer, nor even containing fresh cream; rather, 'twas a thick sort of potato gruel, thrown together haphazardly from last evening's scraps of potatoes and sour milk. Nonetheless, I happily ribbed her about attempting to step out of her class by eating fancy foods before dawn! I snicker even now reminiscing upon the event!
. . . . .

The wretched Orpha can't even afford this:

1 comment:

B. said...

Calling this abomination a "bisque" is causing me to wretch. I shall now require a dropper of Ipecac and an afternoon's rest.