Tamalehawk has secretly longed for a signature hash, a matchless morning marvel that beckons beaks from nearby nests and abruptly erupts from local lore to international infamy.
While he may still be waiting for a federal hash grant, this was no doubt a significant breakthrough. Tamalehawk tossed potato, onion, carrot, and apple into the snarling awaiting blades of his food processor. He squeezed the excess water out to ensure a brazen browning, spiced liberally, and fried until a concord of crunch and soft was created. Make sure to lay an over-medium egg on top so the broken yoke soaks into the savory shreds. Babyhawk also inhaled this one, dangerously wielding an adult fork with one wobbly wing.
indeed, babyhawk even likes it reheated, though i'm a little more strict with the cutlery.
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