Like most people, I think, I have a whole list of foods that I think of as “comfort foods.” Mashed potatoes, hot chocolate with toast, soup, etc. I was thinking about it last week, and realized that when it really comes down to it, no matter how much I think I might want one of the classics, I almost always end up making either buttered popcorn or buttered noodles. Apparently I can blame my dad for that, because those were the two things he used to make when I was little.
And that makes me think of fried eggs. No, really. I have always had a complicated relationship with eggs. I hate them scrambled, and only a few years ago learned to enjoy them that way, with cheese and lots of veggies. Sort of like a messy omelet. I don’t like hard yolks or whites that are not thoroughly cooked. I do like them hard-boiled, especially if they are dill pickled. I also like runny fried egg yolks, but not so much the whites.
Which brings me to something I had completely forgotten about, but was recently reminded of. I have always eaten fried eggs (over medium and unbroken, please, with no crispy bits), whites first, with buttered toast. Cut off a bite-sized section of white, place it on toast, and nom. When the white is gone, quarter the yolk, place each section on a piece of toast and nom. Mop up the spilled yolk with the rest of the toast.
I learned that from my dad, too. I remember, when I was about four years old, sitting at the kitchen table, refusing to eat my egg and toast because the whites were disgusting. He told me to eat the white first, with the toast, then the yolk, which I liked, would be my reward. To this day, that’s how I eat fried eggs.
red paper boat 