Wednesday, May 9, 2007
The simple dishes that most people begin with, I have a tendency to avoid. I shoot for the hard dishes- risotto, pie, and others. Of course these dishes don't always come with success, but more often than not they are edible.
Recently I told a friend that I had only had scrambled eggs. His mouth dropped. He was shocked. I grew up on scrambled, I don't remember another choice except the occasional omelet. I saw other egg dishes, but had no clue what they were. Sunny side up, over easy, boiled, fried egg, poached. Dishes I had never tasted or experimented with.
Along with this recent discovery, I found out that my dad didn't really like scrambled eggs. He ordered sunny side up, which I learned was his pick of style of eggs. I sat at the restaurant table stunned. Had I been living a life full of contradictions and lies to get girls to eat their breakfast?
I don't know. Maybe its the shock. But last week I decided it was time to break my innocent lack of experimentation with egg dishes. Time for eggs over easy with biscuits. I tried flipping them with my wrist, but they didn't move. So I flipped them over with the spatula. (Really need to work on my wrist action.) I sat down at the table delicately, sprinkling salt and pepper, before cutting into the yolk and watched it flow out.
As not having experienced an egg like that before, I found it odd. The yolk has a weird taste. It's creamy liquid, really just taste like salt and pepper. But it goes well with biscuits.
Then I tried sunny side up. I like cooking it because one egg takes over the whole pan like a the English taking over the Scottish. The yolk just stays there like a bright sun in a white cloudy day. It's happy dish, perfect for a rainy day.
Once again, I ate the egg with biscuits. (I have this obsession with biscuits currently, I'm trying to get them to become flaky.) The yolk is a perfect companion to the flaky biscuit. Swip the soft bread across yellow liquid and it marries together like apple pie.
This time the burst of the yolk brought a smile to my face. It just oozes out. Like lava flows out a volcano. The taste was sweet and savory. It reminds me of the mornings that I had a fancy breakfast, not cereal or pop tarts, but of bacon, biscuits, sausage. It's what I imagine that my great grandfather, grandfather, and father had for breakfast before working a day on the farm.
I haven't tried all the style of eggs in the world, but I'm working on it. Not only different styles, but different dishes. There is still poached, quiche, tarts, or fried eggs left to try. There's still a whole world out there. I got a lifetime to experiment with life.