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...there is pie.  Nectarine pie, to be precise.  As soon as I recover from this adventure, I'm baking one as fast as is humanly possible.

I am at the point where I am not only rapidly losing all powers of speech and coherent thought, but I would mug an orphan for a plate of scrambled eggs, country ham, grits and biscuits.  The bad news is that we only have eggs and biscuit ingredients.  The good news is that the biscuits are so easy, they can be made by someone who has been awake for 21 hours.

Buttermilk biscuits

yield depends on size of biscuit cutter

2 cups pastry or all-purpose flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. kosher salt

2 oz. (1/2 stick butter)

1 1/2 cups buttermilk (you may not need it all, or you may need more)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit (Gas Mark 7). Combine flour, baking powder and salt in large bowl.  Cut butter in with a pastry blender or two knives until the butter and flour have the consistency of cornmeal. Stir in the buttermilk until you have a dough that is soft but not sticky.  Turn out onto a floured board, knead five times, roll to about 3/4" thick and cut with a biscuit cutter.  Put on a sheet tray lined with parchment and brush with melted butter or an egg beaten with a little water.  Bake for 10 minutes, then turn down the heat to 350 and bake until well-risen and golden brown on top.  Eat while hot.

I think that Bunni and I are at the point where we are both so tired that we can see through time.  Fortunately, I have a coping strategy (other than cold showers and Lush shower gels, of course):  As I watch the sky lighten and the sun move in, I'm going to pretend that Lloyd and I are flying to Heathrow, and I am waking up from a groggy and uncomfortable sleep to see the sun in the distance, knowing that that means we're less than two hours away from landing.

Of course, to fulfill this whole fantasy, I'd have to drink a cup of bad coffee and eat one of those icky Otis Spunkmeyer blueberry muffins.  I don't think we need to go that far.

Update:  Blogathon has raised $54,780.97 in pledges.  This will go a long way toward helping us all cross that threshhold.

mercuryfern's question about the first thing I ever learned to cook has stayed in my mind all night, so I thought it would be nice to post the sainted Brownies Cockaigne recipe.  After all, nothing says "Why, look!  Light on the horizon!" like a chocolate dessert.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit (Gas Mark 4). Butter a 9"x 9" pan (for thick, cakey brownies) or a 9"x 13" pan (for thin, chewy brownies -- I like these).

Melt the butter and chocolate in a double boiler over simmering water. Stir to blend, then let cool completely; if the mixture is too warm, the brownies will be heavy and dry.

Beat the eggs and sugar together until frothy. Add salt and vanilla.

Stir the chocolate and butter into the eggs and sugar by hand. When the chocolate is almost completely incorporated, add the flour. If you are using nuts, add them when the flour is almost completely blended in. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 1/2 hour. Cut into squares when cool.

Brownies Cockaigne (from The Joy of Cooking, 1975 edition, by Irma S. Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker)

makes 16 - 32 brownies, depending on how large or small you cut them

4 oz. unsweetened chocolate

4 oz. (1 stick) unsalted butter

4 large eggs

2 cups granulated sugar

1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup toasted walnuts or pecans (optional)

Good Bog, but I wish I could do the Myrna Loy essay here.  Sigh.  I guess I'll just have to go back to one of my favorite Cynthia Heimel moments:

There is a certain sexual position called "doggie-style," and I've never understood why.  What I mean is, have you ever seen dogs doing it?  Dull.  Possibly a little panting, but absolutely no moaning or crooning, "Oh baby, oh baby."  The female dog keeps her eyes open the whole time, wearing on her usually expressive  face a world-weary expression more suitable for snubbing Brand X dog food.

When human girls do it doggie-style, they have a lot more fun, and here's why:  They can't actually see their partner, and can pretend he's anyone.  Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon and Charles Dickens are particular favorites, or you can get really strange and not only pretend that he is Fidel Castro but also that you are Margaret Thatcher.  The possibilities are endless.