Sunday, April 09, 2006

Poached eggs for Stanley Kubrick

Part of a much longer dream...

I was some sort of spy on a secret mission. I was wearing a tan trench coat. I was in the back of a commercial airliner, awaiting takeoff. The main passenger cabin was in front of me and I was sitting in a windowless galley area which had three seats.

This galley was gray and cheerless. The main cabin, beyond a bulkhead in front of me, was light and airy... windows at every seat, lots of bright, direct sunlight. There were little tables at each seat, like the tables on a train. Not like those stingy, fold-down trays on an airliner.

The plane was a little smaller than a Boeing 737, with maybe 100 seats. It was nearly full, just a few empty seats. People were chatting, playing cards, reading books. It was pleasant and relaxed.

Stanley Kubrick (the film director who made “2001: A Space Odyssey”) was in the second row from the front, on the left. There was a slight buzz among the passengers because a celebrity was on board.

The plane taxied out on to the runway, then climbed smoothly and powerfully into the air. It banked 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 and began preparing a breakfast tray. She was very intent and focused, the way children often are when they’re concentrating on a grown-up task.

“What are you doing?” I asked, 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 a poached egg. She pulled a small rubber stamp from her pocket and printed something on the leftover piece of bread. She was careful not to crush the bread when she stamped it. She held it up for me.

“See?” she said. “That’s the garnish.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet!” I beamed.

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

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