I die and go to heaven. When I woke up this morning, my mom was alread saute-ing the mushrooms and diced ham steak and rice and she had my dad shelling edamame. In another pan she cooked a perfect 5-egg omelette, flipped it perfectly, then loaded the saute into it, and without any sticking or mess or fuss, loaded this little number onto a plate. Actually it wasn't a little anything. That's a large dinner plate my friends. And when she was all done, she said, "I think I made too much."
But we made fast work of it, and washed it down with mimosas.