Mom's Perfect Eggs

The actions of a spoiled child are easily dismissed.  A parent or bystander can be heard defining the situation with the word itself.  "What a spoiled brat!"  You won't ever hear "Ah, the behavior of an over-indulged child, now faced with the confusing reality that the way they've been treated in the past is not a good indicator of how they'll be treated in the future."

"But Mom gave me a Snickers bar when she took me to the store last week!"

You bet she did little Timmy, but today you pissed Mommy off when you ruined her favorite blouse with your fingerpaints.  It wasn't your fault, but guess who's going to pay for it?  That's right Timmy...You are.  Wave goodbye to the creamy chocolate, peanuts and caramel.  I didn't want to mention the nougat, but you can't have that either.

When I was 7 years old my father fixed me a traditional breakfast of eggs and toast.  This is one of his favorite "I wanted to kill you" stories.  Everything looked great but after closer inspection there was a big problem...Well, three big problems.  These eggs were fried in bacon grease which gave the bottom of the whites a discolored layer of grissel.  I don't know if grissel is a real word, but it's one that appropriately describes the bottom of this egg.  It was rough and hard to cut, like a fine metal screen.  The yolks were overcooked and were reminiscent of a hard boiled egg.  The coup de grace was the seasoning.  There was enough pepper on top of these eggs to make salt jealous for eternity. 

 I delclared the eggs to be unacceptable and said I would not eat them.  My father's face turned a rich shade of purple with fury.  He could not fathom someone turning their nose up at food someone else had prepared for them. "I'm never cooking you anything ever again!"  Well if your other cooking is anything like those eggs, I'll get over it. What my father never stopped to think about is why I would deny such eggs.

Glenna Edmondson, mother of six boys, saint hood nominee and home economics major, was my main caregiver.  Her sack lunch was nothing special and I've tasted better chocolate chip cookies, but her eggs...Well, all I can say is that they're perfect.  She melts butter over medium high heat before breaking the eggs into the pan.  She salts and peppers them just before she covers them with a lid containing a tablespoon of water to steam the tops.  What happens is you're left with a perfectly seasoned egg with a firm white, runny yolk and a smooth buttery finish.  If you look for grissel, keep looking Jack, cause you're not going to find any.

My father failed to realize the caliber of egg I was used to.  I failed to realize that he prepared my eggs the same way his mother prepared his. But come on, I was seven. 

All people revolt for the same reason, they're denied what they're used to getting or they're denied what they know they can get.  Think about that before you label someone as "spoiled."  Judgemental prick. Some people might describe this scenario as having standards while others maintain some people are spoiled rotten.  There's no coming back from that one.  Once you're spoiled rotten you can never be ripe again.

Yesterday I made myself Mom's perfect eggs.  I've tried many times to get them right but it wasn't til yesterday that they finally tasted like Mom's.  My father still cooks for me when I come home and he's a wonderful chef and baker.  Cooking and preparing food for me is  how he shows me love. I guess the whole "I'm never cooking you anything ever again" was just him blowing off steam.  To bad he didn't use that steam to cook the top of his eggs.