I have a confession: I love eggs. Please don’t judge, you just don’t understand.
When I was pregnant with my son, I craved red meat; with my daughter, I craved vegetables and eggs. Lots and lots of eggs. Unlike my red-meat craving, however, my desire for eggs has not abated.
Its hard to say what my favorite preparation is: fluffy scrambled eggs with chives? Phenomenal. Hard-boiled on a salad, as a sandwich, or as deviled eggs? I’m in heaven. Soft-boiled over hash or toast? Delightful.
Over easy on a slice of toast with ham and cheese, the runny yolk creating a rich sauce to dip the bread into? Excuse me, I think I need a moment to myself.
The great thing about eggs is that they can attend every party, every meal even. Breakfast is obvious. For lunch, you can have eggs on a sandwich, in a salad.
They are amazing appetizers — deviled eggs are aptly named, they’re deviously delicious and addictive. Steak and eggs or spaghetti carbonara for dinner?
Whipped into a meringue for dessert or slowly baked into a crispy, light-as-air pavlova?
My dad makes the best omelets. He keeps them simple, adding only cheddar cheese and crisp, salty bacon — patiently waiting to flip the ends over until just the right time, and producing perfect, rolled omelets. I don’t have his patience — I always flip too early, breaking my omelet into halves or thirds. Sometimes I’m too impatient to even attempt it, so I make scrambles instead.
Even the shells are useful: My grandma taught me to save them and put them at the base of fruit trees so the nutrients can soak into the soil as the eggs decompose.
Eggs are perfect. Wonderful. Delicious. I never get tired of them.
The Hubbs doesn’t share my enthusiasm: He doesn’t “like” eggs, and it doesn’t matter how many times I shove “Green Eggs and Ham” into his hands. (Ohmygosh. Eggs with pesto and pasta and prosciutto! Now I want that for lunch …) He also thinks I’m nuts for occasionally suggesting “breakfast for dinner.”
He’s playing on his work softball team this year and they have a double-header tonight, which means the kids and I are on our own. The boy loves pancakes, so I think I’ll make some before picking him up from day care. I think I’ll also make him and his sister scrambled eggs — I’m not sure if he’ll try any, but Allie? She’s like me: She’s game for anything at least once.
I’m really looking forward to dinner.