Eggs. People love ’em. Scrambled, fried, over easy, raw, poached, hard boiled. My ex loved them so much that I attempted, for a short time, to keep a running total of his egg consumption, entitled the ‘Egg Log’. I was exhausted within 48 hours. I’d lost tallying an egg here, an egg there. He ate eggs everywhere.
I have nothing against the egg incredible edible egg; it just doesn’t call my name that often. I went most of the year and a half in my last Chicago apartment without buying them. When it was time to bake something, I’d beg or borrow or steal one (from a neighbor). I walked across the street to Alliance Bakery once and asked if I could just buy an egg. Just one egg. The counter girl looked dumbfounded, and directed me to another worker, seemingly unable to wrap her mind around the idea. He was a little thrown as well. But he acquiesced. Gave me 1 egg, protected by a single-cupcake carrier. It looked so cute in there. It was like a personal port for the lonely protein.
The eggs here are from a friend’s chicken. They are dark white and light brown, speckled and spotless. They taste unlike any egg I’ve had before. Still…I struggle with what to do with them. I can’t imagine myself just cooking up a couple for a meal. But the other day — hunger hit and the eggs were the only item in surplus. I stared at them. What the HELL do people do with them, I asked myself? I pictured old folks and young, sitting at their tables with the yellow-white discs on their plates. And then….then: I remembered that I love egg salad. Egg salad sandwiches. I eat them rarely. There are two things that have kept me from making it myself. 1) I NEVER have eggs and 2) I didn’t know it was so easy. But it was. And now when the hankering strikes again, I simply go back to the source.