Of Egg Cups and the Eggs Therein
What is it about egg cups? I don’t even like eggs, and still, there's something about those little guys…Like tiny thrones for your breakfast. They take a round white thing that rolled from a chicken's unmentionables and turn it into a culinary experience. In fact, eating my first soft-boiled egg from an imitation-silver cup may have been a turning point in my life. Turning to what, I don’t know, but turning nonetheless.
I was in Bath, England, at a little breakfast table, staring at my meal: a little egg cup and a grapefruit. Eggs are disgusting; chewing anything even remotely involved in sexual reproduction is a big no-no in my book. And don’t even get me started on grapefruit. However, the experience of having food actually prepared for me at a Bed & Breakfast was totally new. Could I refuse it? Did I dare? I really didn’t want to offend our hostess.
So I poked at the egg a bit when I thought no one was looking, prodded it slightly with my fork. Okay, so how did one go about getting to the edible part? My fellow diners were all finished with theirs; I hadn’t even had an opportunity to try and learn by imitation. After around 15 minutes of not-so-subtle stabbing, a nice man took pity on me and showed me how to chop off the top with my spoon. He must have been an old pro. You know, the kind who travels around the British Isles teaching idiotic American teenagers how to eat breakfast. A true John Wayne type.
Feeling like a complete ass, I consumed my egg in silence.
Isn't that just typical? I'm pretty sure I know everything. Everything. It's one of the perks of being a teenager. And then, all of a sudden, I have to have someone demonstrate how to use a damn spoon. Talk about getting taken down a notch.
This may be one of the most pointless entries I've ever posted, but I think it needs to be somewhere where I can see it. No one has all the answers, especially not me. It might do me well to remember that from time to time.
I was in Bath, England, at a little breakfast table, staring at my meal: a little egg cup and a grapefruit. Eggs are disgusting; chewing anything even remotely involved in sexual reproduction is a big no-no in my book. And don’t even get me started on grapefruit. However, the experience of having food actually prepared for me at a Bed & Breakfast was totally new. Could I refuse it? Did I dare? I really didn’t want to offend our hostess.
So I poked at the egg a bit when I thought no one was looking, prodded it slightly with my fork. Okay, so how did one go about getting to the edible part? My fellow diners were all finished with theirs; I hadn’t even had an opportunity to try and learn by imitation. After around 15 minutes of not-so-subtle stabbing, a nice man took pity on me and showed me how to chop off the top with my spoon. He must have been an old pro. You know, the kind who travels around the British Isles teaching idiotic American teenagers how to eat breakfast. A true John Wayne type.
Feeling like a complete ass, I consumed my egg in silence.
Isn't that just typical? I'm pretty sure I know everything. Everything. It's one of the perks of being a teenager. And then, all of a sudden, I have to have someone demonstrate how to use a damn spoon. Talk about getting taken down a notch.
This may be one of the most pointless entries I've ever posted, but I think it needs to be somewhere where I can see it. No one has all the answers, especially not me. It might do me well to remember that from time to time.