I’m tired. You probably are, too. There are both general and specific reasons underpinning this, but today for me, it’s due at least in part due to the pressure of writing stories that must “restore your faith in humanity” or be “utterly life-changing.” I don’t have that depth of emotional capacity to spare at the moment, but I can tell you about the simple, little thing I do to make my scrambled eggs markedly, unfailingly better.
I buzz the eggs in a food processor before I put them in olive oil to cook. Really, it’s that easy. A blender would do the trick, too, but it’s up on a high shelf and I’d have to stand on a chair or ask my husband to reach up and get it for me, and that’s just too much bother. I have a mini food processor right there on the counter and I crack a couple of eggs into it, pulse them until they’re frothy, and pour them into the warm, oiled pan. Growing up, I was taught to add milk and, inexplicably, vinegar to the eggs, but nah. Just the eggs and air.
What happens is that one bazillion little bubbles are fluffed into the mix, making everything lovely and light. When the eggs start to solidify in the pan, they fold, rather than form curds, and make me feel a little bit fancy. The texture is akin to what I get in a diner, which I love because those are eggs made for me rather than by me. It’s a subtle thing, but it matters in the morning.
But not every morning! Heaven knows I don’t have it in me to wash out the food processor every single day, and I definitely don’t run the dishwasher every day (there are only two humans in my home and we don’t generate a warrantable amount of dishes), so I rinse all the parts, chuck them in there, and a few days later they’re clean and I muck them up again.
Could I fluff the eggs with a whisk and some will? Yes, but you read the part about exhaustion, right? I just sometimes need something nice that’s not so very difficult. An immersion blender would work, too, but I don’t know where the heck that’s hiding right now.
So these eggs. I pour the froth into warm olive oil, wait for the edges to firm up a little, sprinkle on some salt and herbs, then just sort of push them around a little. If I waited for the bottom to firm, too, I could fold it and call it an omelet, but I just can’t deal with that sort of pressure so early in the day. I need a small victory. A scramble it is, and while it’s not life-changing, it is an easily-achievable source of pleasure where there was only maintenance before, and that’s good enough for me.
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