Fried eggs breakfast

This breakfast makes use of surplus chicken pie filling prepared yesterday, but to refer to it now as breakfast eggs on top of chicken pie filling sounds so orninary, not that there's anything wrong with that, but still I fell it should be renamed for a refreshed purpose. I will go with à la King, an amusing name to begin with because it sounds like it switches from English to French then back again, otherwise it would be poulet à le roi, unless King is a name and not a status, which is very likely some chef named King. 

It also uses the other half of the Russet potato that was used for the pie filling. The potato half was already peeled and stored overnight in water to prevent oxidization. The reserved half was cut into matchsticks because both the hand graters are in the dishwasher, apparently, and I didn't feel like dragging out and messing up a Cuisinart just for one half a potato. Plus matchsticks are cool. The potato matchsticks were parboiled to give them a a start, and then fried in butter/olive oil. 

The sausages are in-house prepared with blueberries by Whole Foods on the day I shopped there. Adding blueberries to sausage seemed like a strange thing to do, I had to try them, but more than that, the idea suddenly lit up a whole range of associated sausage-related and meat-grinding thoughts. I said so, and the butcher lady agreed, she said, "Oh, we put all kind of fruity, berry things in sausage. Yesterday we had mango, before that we added cherries, we've had pineapple ... all kinds of things." And I'm all, "Get you guys! I never thought of mixing fruit with sausage before, or other meats for that matter." A world of ground meat perversion opened up right then. 

The two eggs stayed in the pan a minute longer than intended because I was goofing around and consequently the yolks cooked through. Then eating the overly hardened yolks reminded me of being a little kid, which is how I had them then. Runny egg yolks made my child self feel like I would would barf. I would hold my throat and make choking sounds to dramatize the point. Kids' tender sensibilities are weird. It took awhile to fully outgrow that non-vulcanized egg prejudice.