My summer journal entry prompt involves an egg. Myfanwy Hart asked, “What can you do with an egg?”
I think of my gran when I think of eggs. She used to find many crafts for me when I stayed. We painted pictures on pebbles or pin-pricked a hole in the top and bottom of eggs. By blowing at the hole we eventually ended up with hollow eggs which we then decorated with food dye and the exciting thing was, it didn’t have to be Easter.
I also thinking of egg and spoon races and how these used to be led with real eggs not plastic ones. Spoons also remind me of my gran. She collected spoons for most of her life and they were all proudly displayed in her small conservatory next to a photograph of my grandad dressed as a cowboy in Wyoming (where their son, my uncle lived). It became a trend when my family went on holiday to search for a spoon or two and bring them back for her to add to her collection. As it happened, I even bought her one during a school trip to Lyme Regis, which is still one of my favourite places.
It has become a joke in our house when my son gets his laptop out to do his homework. He has renamed folders on the hard drive as ‘cutlery’ and that he went to Spoons Elementary School! My daughter, on the other hand has renamed one of her homework folders on her computer as ‘Boredom’.
When I was going out with my boyfriend many years ago, I treated him (yes, really) to a home-cooked lunch which comprised of a carrot sticking up in the middle of some scrambled eggs I’d added green food colouring to. I was trying to convince him that I disliked cooking just so that he didn’t have any pre-conceived ideas about gourmet meals and entertaining his family. Every now and again I will bring out the photograph I took of this special event to remind him that cooking is not my favourite pastime. My eldest says that I tend to bake when I’m cross about something – it becomes a way to offload and let off steam – haha – so when I baked some more chocolate and walnut brownies today and was humming away, she said, ‘Mum, what’s going on?’
Obviously as time has moved on, we have heard snapshot stories about growing up, including my parents’ effort to get my brother to eat boiled eggs. They used beetroot to die the egg whites so that the eggs were disguised, he did eat them because of this! I ate them any which way except poached as I didn’t like the texture. Dipping toast into a runny yolk was always a great breakfast. Meanwhile, my husband makes dinosaur eggs for our youngest by partly boiling the egg in its shell then tapping it gently with a spoon until it cracks. He adds blue food colouring into the boiling water, which seeps beneath the shell. I’ve blogged about this cooking technique in a previous post, but here is a reminder picture of it.
My brother introduced me to ‘Eggy Bread’ when I was younger. This was done by beating eggs up in a bowl and then dipping the bread into it. The bread was placed into some hot fat in a frying pan and flipped both sides before serving hot and crunchy.
When my youngest was about three she used to call fried egg a ‘flat egg’ and this was because the only way she would eat it is by completely flattening the egg so that you cannot see the yolk. She refused to eat the yellow regardless of whether it was fried, boiled, or poached!