Egg-love'ya

Dear half fried,

Let me start by thanking you for all the joy you have brought to my life over thousands of breakfasts in the last 3 decades. Even though I have known you for so long now, I still get thrilled like a child, anticipating which way you'd flow when I poke you out of your inertia. The excitement of slowly traversing through the white to arrive at your bright and happy yolk at the centre, can not possibly be matched by any other ritual of eating (except, may be, that of saving the gooeyest part of a cake for the last bite). I wouldn't even shy away from saying that an egg laid and not made into a half fried, is an egg better not laid at all.

On that note, let me tell you that I am almost always left appalled when I see people choosing other forms of cooked eggs over you. I mean, omelette and scrambled dont even qualify as real eggs! Think about it - an egg turns into an omelette by undergoing a sort of cosmopolitization; myriad ingredients, each with a strong and influencing character (onions, chillies, coriander, and cheese), permeate through it while it is physically beaten out of its natural consistency. The resultant product is this compound which reflects the characteristics of each of its ingredients but lacks the strength of the elemental character of the egg itself. In effect, an omelette is born out of the act of polluting the egg's identity.

The act of scrambling is as bad if not worse. The identity of the egg undergoes dilution here as its pristine, gelly like form is forcefully destroyed to make it fluffy. Unlike an omelette though, the egg isn't infused with new ingredients which overpower its basic characteristics, instead, it is reduced to a mere distillate of its original self - one that is only reminiscent of its erstwhile glory. In both its omelette, and scrambled versions, hence, an egg loses its essence and becomes less of what it actually is. Sad, isn't it?

Now I know what you'd be thinking you modest, drool worthy, son of a sun! You are thinking that a boiled egg, being as much (or more) of an egg as you, should be my favorite too, right? I'll tell you what, I find the very idea of boiling eggs discomforting. The egg which is almost fluidic in its original form, is rendered hard, and solid as it bakes slowly inside its own shell. The act leaves the cooked egg rather stoic, and devoid of all emotions and expressions. To me, boiling robs an egg of its inherent playfulness, and I hate it for doing this. On the other hand you, my dear half fried, are probably the most vibrant and vivacious form of food a man can ever hope to fill his stomach with.

So now you know why I absolutely, unconditionally love you. I must close this letter now and get some sleep, but only to wake up tomorrow morning and have a couple of you for breakfast.

Good night.

Much love.

Note : I have no clue why I decided to write to an egg, a very specific form of egg at that. This just might be a consequence of extreme boredome or my Platonian leanings. I don't really know what the latter means but it sounds cool so I'd stick with it.

Image source: google images

Posted with Blogsy