Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Poached Eggs for Stanley Kubrick

Part of a much longer dream:

I was some sort of spy on a mission (I was even wearing a classic cliché trench coat). I was in the back of a commercial airliner, waiting for takeoff. The main passenger cabin was in front of me and I was sitting in a windowless galley area that had three seats.

This cabin was gray and cheerless. The main cabin, beyond a bulkhead in front of me, was light and airy - windows at every seat and lots of bright, direct sunlight. There were little tables in front of each seat, more like the tables on a train than the fold-down trays on an airliner. The plane was a little smaller than a Boeing 737, with maybe 100 seats in all. It was nearly full; just a few empty seats. People were chatting, playing cards at their tables, reading books. It was pleasant and relaxed.

Stanley Kubrick (the film director who made “2001: A Space Odyssey” and who, in the waking world, died a few years ago) was in the second row from the front, on the left. There was a slight buzz of excitement among the passengers at having a celebrity on board.

The plane taxied out onto the runway, climbing smoothly and powerfully into the air, banking sharply, but not uncomfortably, to the left.

A little girl with long brown hair, wearing a T-shirt with wide, vertical red and white stripes, came into the galley area and began preparing a breakfast tray. She was very intent and focused... in the way children often are when they’re concentrating on a grown-up task.

“What are you doing?” I asked cheerfully, grateful for someone to talk to. “I’m making breakfast for Mr. Kubrick,” she replied brightly. “It’s a surprise,” she added in a mischievous half-whisper, as though letting me in on a secret.

She began making poached eggs on toast. She used a round cookie cutter to remove the center of a slice of white bread, leaving a hole in it that was just the right size for an egg. She pulled a small rubber stamp from her pocket and printed something on the leftover piece of bread (the round piece left over from when she made a hole in the main slice). She was careful not to crush the bread when she stamped it. She held it up for me.

“See? That’s the garnish.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet!” I beamed.

The little piece of bread had an “S” on it...


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