It was a dramatic scene in my kitchen. There I stood against the stove, arms frozen, face contorted in horror as I looked down at what would have been a perfect pan on scrambled eggs. I shrieked so loudly that if anyone else had been home, they surely would have thought we were being robbed and death was imminent.
It had started out normally. A slice of bread was in the toaster. Some butter had been melted in the pan and one glistening egg had been cracked already. It's sunset gold yolk swum delicately in a clear pool of uncooked egg white. And then, the scene was shattered. When I went to crack his brother into the pan, there was an explosion of orange mess that covered part of the stove and went down my leg. And there, in my pan of potential breakfast, was a baby chicken fetus.
It was awful. I swear it's eye was half the size of it's head. It looked like every textbook picture of a preformed baby chicken does. It was an inch long.
I froze, shrieked, threw the pan in the sink and then turned the heat off. Running to the bathroom, I turned the shower on and hastily scrubbed the icky icky gunk off my legs.I took a cleansing breath.
Then I returned to the scene of the crime and cleaned up the debris. Everything went down the sink with a generous amount of water and the garbage disposal running. The pan was fully cleaned. Then I stood in my kitchen and faced an agonizing decision. I was still hungry.
I thought about it carefully. If I didn't make another batch of eggs now, I would be spending the whole day convinced in my brain that this would happen every time I made eggs. I needed to be strong. I needed to be confident. I needed to get back on the horse. I needed a prep bowl.
So again, I melted butter in the pan and I took out two eggs from the refrigerator. I took a small bowl from the cabinet and, with a deep breath I cracked an egg into the bowl.
It was fine. No eerie eye peeked at me from the bowl. No mess and no explosion occurred. I dumped the egg into the pan. Then, I reached for the second egg. Even more gingerly than the first time, I cracked the egg into the bowl. Again, a perfect egg. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued making my breakfast. But even as I sat down and ate, the image of the chicken haunted me. I still haven't quite gotten it out of my head. At least, though, I got back on the horse.
1 Tbsp butter or buttery spread (not oil though)
1 Tbsp fresh grated Parmesan
Generous pinch of salt
Fresh ground pepper
Melt the butter in a very small pan over medium low heat. Crack the eggs into a prep bowl, then transfer to the pan... or throw caution to the wind and crack them straight in. Add the salt and pepper.
With a spatula or wooden spoon, stir the eggs to break up the yolk. Keep gently stirring the eggs as they cook, that is the secret to perfect eggs. When they start to set but are still a tiny bit runny, turn off the heat. The heat from the pan will finish them off. Add the Parmesan cheese and stir again until the cheese melts and the eggs are fully cooked. Plate. Add more salt and pepper if you so desire.