The true romantic food is an omelette.

I’d discovered this by reading the early romance novels where I noticed the governess would whip up the most blissful omelette. Before long, the hero would be at her feet.

I’d never had a true reason to perfect the omelette, or even to decide on whether to spell the word with the French or English version, but when I married, I knew it was time to learn to cook this perfect dish. I just needed the right omelette recipe because mine were lacking. They tasted like scrambled eggs no matter how many additions I whipped into them.

Then I realized, the magical recipe for this perfectly enchanting food had been secreted away by the governesses.

As a nod to the wonderful books I’ve read about omelettes, I added a reference to those blissful dishes in Saying I Do To The Scoundrel, and sadly, Katherine never learned the governess' recipe either.
 
Excerpt:
     Inside, the smell of wood smoke mixed with the scent of food. Brandt stood with his back to her. He had hung a pot over the stove and was now putting dollops of dough on to the lid top to cook.
     ‘Would probably be too much for me to expect you to cook something even as simple as an omelette…’
     She raised her brows in question.
     ‘An omelette. My father travelled near Bessières once and when he returned he insisted we have omelettes. Eggs stirred about. Cheese in it. Very tasty. I discovered I had to show the women at the tavern how to make them if I wanted one to my taste.’
     ‘I like my eggs normally prepared.’
     ‘And how might that be?’
     ‘By Cook. And in biscuits and cakes and tarts and things like that.’
     ‘I very much want an omelette.’
     ‘That is probably beyond my experience.’
     He leaned forward, blinked slowly and met her eyes. ‘I thought so.’

I wanted a pet rabbit. But I didn't want to feed or take care of it. Then, for a few months, a wild rabbit decided he'd be my buddy. He wasn't afraid of me and would let me get a few feet away to take his photo, and I started calling him Bunners.

He didn't understand the concept of staying away from the garden fence.

He pretty much did as he pleased, but I usually found him near the garden.

Bunners was in the area as the green bean plants methodically disappeared. And not haphazardly. The disappearance started at one end of the row and plants vanished in an orderly fashion.

My rabbit didn't see a thing.

Imagine, pets that feed themselves. And garden produce that magically keeps from getting overabundant.  Be careful what you wish for, but if it shows up in the form of a bunny, don't complain.

How did soldiers in the 1800's dispose of a friend's gear when he died on the battlefield? Or what happened to a sailor's belongings when he didn't make it through a voyage? The limitations of travel made it all but impossible to return all but the most personal effects.

In a previous post, I mentioned the book Two Years Before The Mast telling of a sailor who fell overboard and couldn't swim. The ship was under sail, and they stopped as quickly as possible, yet they were unable to rescue the sailor...

Afterwards, an auction was held to dispose of his belongings. The money was collected to give to his family.

Life In Wellington's Army tells of the many auctions held after a battle to dispose of the soldier's gear. Sometimes the bidding became boisterous and competitive. The good-natured spirit of the bidders is better understood when you realize they were taking their joy where they could find it. They knew that the next auction could be to dispose of their goods.

A meal kit purchased after one battle could be auctioned again after the next.

While it seemed strange to me—it is little different than an estate auction in modern times.

There is an irony in a man who was nearly illiterate having his autobiography written, and that people could be fascinated by his life story 200 years after his birth. Kit Carson's life was fodder for dime novels, and it's likely that he had a personal flair that led itself to story form. 

Having never really heard or read anything about Carson, a man who traveled and lived in the American West during the early 1800's, his story caught my attention when I noticed a report of him running away from the man he'd been apprenticed to. Carson had fond memories of the man, but not the job of making saddles. A reward for Kit's return was offered, and published in a newspaper. One cent. A nice way of telling a lad that he's free to go as he pleases and to wish him well.

 

It really was upside down.

    Beau Brummell is known for the style of clothing he wore and his wit. But in a time when daily bathing wasn't necessarily the thing to do, particularly in warm water, Brummell was ahead of his time.
    He may have made his place in Regency history due to his fashion sense, but without the hygiene, I doubt it would have mattered what he wore. 
    Unable to sustain the lifestyle that he so loved, Beau spent time in a debtor's prison, and his later years were plagued with illness. I wish life had been kinder to him, and he had been kinder to others. 
    Perhaps his perfect clothing and his criticisms of others helped him gain popularity, but his insults of others and his expenditures led to his downfall.
    But Regency history wouldn't be the same to me without the thought of clean cravats, warm water and elegant clothing.