A few weeks ago I surprised myself by falling headlong into a crush. A deeply passionate affair, with lots of fire and gasps of pleasure. Ahem.
I discovered duck eggs. In particular, I discovered fried duck eggs.
I’ve long maintained a strong anti-egg stance. After several miserable experiences with boiled and fried eggs as a child, I have long held a belief that eggs were best suited to being baked into cakes. At a pinch, I’d eat scrambled eggs or an omelette, but you would never, ever catch me eating a boiled (soft or hard), poached or fried. So what changed?
A few weeks ago, Dave broke his collarbone while playing football (soccer) with Lucas. Bear with me, I’m getting there. I ended up dashing into the supermarket to buy something, anything, to get change for the hospital (horrendously expensive) carpark. I grabbed the first thing I saw and a few hours later I found myself staring in bewilderment at a bag of pre-chopped swede (rutabaga across the pond, neeps to my fellow Scots) and carrots. After scratching my head for a while I remembered seeing a root vegetable hash somewhere on the internet and decided to make that. And since hash is accompanied in just about every recipe by a fried egg, I decided to add one to my plate, too, despite loathing them. (I think my brain was truly scrambled by stress.) To my utter surprise, I found myself enjoying the egg! And the next day I picked up a carton of duck eggs at the supermarket and reprised the precious night’s dinner with even better results. Duck eggs are awesome! I have discovered the joys of poking at a wobbly yolk and watching liquid gold pour over cubes of crispy-edged vegetables. Fantastic. My conversion to the church of fried eggs is vastly amusing all of my friends and family. I’m keeping my eye out for goose eggs (even richer?) and after watching a nature documentary the other day, I’m pondering how I’d get hold of an ostrich egg…