There’s a diner near my apartment that overcooks the omelets. My cheese omelet inevitably has that tell-tale brown crispiness on the edges with burnt blisters splotching up the whole thing. There’s a bit of a crispiness and a certain unusual chewiness to this omelet, and I love it! Every single time that omelet lands in front of me in that shape I smile and dig right into it.
Recently, it occurred to me why I like my omelets in this shape. Though I was often hungry as a child, my grandmother always made sure I had something to eat when I stayed with her. She would pour copious amounts of vegetable oil into the pan prior to pouring in my scrambled eggs. I had crispy, greasy eggs that were like no other eggs I had consumed prior to that time. I only knew powdery fake scrambled eggs and my grandmother’s version.
My grandmother was the poorest person I knew, but she always made sure I was fed, and never hungry. She’s the reason I love my eggs overcooked.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
food: the immediate gateway to some of our best and worse memories.
So true, so true …
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