Perfect Harmony.

One of the benefits of being married to my husband is that you instantly gain a sister-in-law...who lives in California...on the beach.

As often as we can, we drive our family of six to Newport Beach where we crash her tiny two-bedroom apartment by the sea. It's difficult to be there because she has things like fresh, ocean air breezing through her opened windows and a huge vase filled with pink seashells on the table. And not the kind of shells you buy at the craft store, but the kind where she says, "Oh, those? I just collected those the other day while we were strolling along the shore."

(That usually gets me thinking about what I might collect in a vase by my house. And then I just feel depressed. Somehow rocks, litter and gravel don't quite fill a room the way fresh seashells do.)

But the best thing about visiting my sister-in-law, besides late night crab dinners and Sunday afternoon french dip sandwiches, is breakfast. We love to go to this little spot on the beach where they have this incredible oatmeal, topped with tart cranberries and crunchy almonds (for me) and sugary french toast with floods of syrup (for my husband) and fluffy pancakes with hot chocolate for the kids. Oh, and the waves just happen to crash right at your feet while you swirl your way through rivers of syrupy heaven.

Are you tempted yet?

But one morning we broke the routine and tried something new.

It was drizzling outside. The sky was gray and the air, moist. After driving around some fancy pants island, with homes in the billions (might I add that another favorite sight to see is the Rolls Royce dealership by her house, with signs that say, "SALE: $350,000!" Sale? Only in Newport!), we stopped at a diner for some breakfast.

It was a weekday, and the place was empty. Still, we were placed at a corner booth in the back, tucked away from any potential customer who might be scared off by six young kids throwing forks and dropping plates.

I was prepared to order my usual. Pancakes. Or waffles. Or a toasted bagel with fruit. But then my eyes feasted upon the description of Heuvos Rancheros. Black beans. Avocado. Corn tortilla. Pico de gallo. Fried egg. Cilantro. My mouth was watering already just thinking about all that salty goodness.

And goodness it was. I practically licked my plate and dreamed of it for weeks to come. I've been making it at home ever since. It's simple. And fresh. And so delicious.

And while we're on the subject of eggs, I've decided they are the perfect food. If you aren't sold on the idea of a salty corn shell underneath a soft, supple egg, whose piping hot yolk runs down over a pile of Mexican hoopla, than here's another idea for you. Think pasta. With egg. I made it for dinner the other night and it was fabulous. (There's something about that word that makes me feel filthy rich every time I use it. Almost like I live in Newport Beach.) Angel hair, fresh tomatoes, lots of garlic and parmesan, topped with a sunnyside-up egg. Honestly. The yolk mixed together with the tomatoes, binding the pasta around the fork in perfect harmony. (For another of my all time favorite egg recipes, click here.)

Since it's Saturday morning, I'm in relaxation mode. Which means I'm too lazy to type a real recipe. So just fry your egg (I like mine sunnyside up). Then fry up your tortilla in oil and salt it on both sides. Assemble with avocado, salsa, black beans, cheese and chopped cilantro. Top with salt and pepper. Then just picture yourself in Newport Beach, driving that Rolls Royce you basically stole at the bargain price of $350,00, and walking along the pristine beaches collecting shells for your kitchen.

Happy Weekend!