A Morning of Sausages, Nuggets, and Surprises...

Maybe sleepless nights aren’t all bad if they end like this...

Dear Readers,

I had spent the night tossing and turning, the elusive embrace of sleep playing hard to get. By the time dawn broke, I had surrendered to wakefulness, rising from my bed at the ungodly hour of 6:30 AM. One and a half hours of sleep wasn’t ideal, but I had learned long ago to make the best of what I had, and this morning, I decided to make magic happen in my kitchen.

The star of the day was my trusty new air fryer, which arrived yesterday from Prestige and a tool I felt could turn anyone into a culinary genius or at least into someone who could reheat leftovers without shame. With a groggy determination, I set to work crafting a breakfast worthy of royalty.

Chicken sausages and nuggets sizzled happily in the fryer, fried eggs shimmered in the pan, and slices of bread popped out of the toaster with a golden glow. To top it off, I threw in a handful of black olives because every breakfast needed a touch of sophistication and poured myself a glass of orange juice, freshly squeezed from the carton.

As I plated the breakfast spread, I felt a small surge of pride. It had been years since I had indulged myself like this. I was flipping through an old recipe book, contemplating what other air fryer miracles I might summon when the doorbell rang.

Standing outside was Alson, the landlord's son, clutching a gardening tool and wearing a sheepish grin. "Morning, Jacob! We’re just cleaning up the premises a bit thought I’d let you know in case we make some noise."

As, always quick on my feet (even with the gout), saw an opportunity to share my culinary triumph. “Well, if you’re up and about, why not join me for breakfast or lunch? Or brunch? I’ve got a bit of everything here!”

Alson hesitated, clearly not expecting the invitation. But I, being a host of unparalleled charm, insisted, "Come on, Alson, don’t leave me to eat all these nuggets alone. Besides, you don’t look like a salad-and-smoothie kind of guy.”

As it turned out, my hunch was right we both were picky eaters but shared a love for all things fried, golden, and delicious. They dove into the food with gusto, Alson cautiously nibbling at a chicken sausage before exclaiming, “Jacob, where has this air fryer been all my life?”

Between bites, they exchanged stories, laughed about the sheer number of weeds choking the garden, and debated the proper ratio of orange juice to pulp. For me, the simple act of sharing a meal with another human was unexpectedly healing. Gout pain, sleepless nights, and the lingering aches of life all seemed to melt away with each hearty laugh and satisfied “Mmm.”

When the plates were finally empty, Alson leaned back with a contented sigh. “That was amazing. Thanks, Jacob. You’ve set the bar for breakfast now!”

I chuckled, waving off the compliment. “Anytime, my friend. Just knock on the door if you ever need an air-fried miracle.”

As Alson left, I felt an unfamiliar warmth in my heart. It wasn’t just the food it was the joy of connection, of sharing something simple yet meaningful. With a satisfied grin, I looked at the empty plates and thought to myself, Maybe sleepless nights aren’t all bad if they end like this.

Jacob M