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Scrambled Eggs | 6.21.01
After sitting idly for an hour or so, reading Kerouac's Vanity of Duluoz, I felt a hunger-call come on. Not exactly a sharp pang that signaled hunger, but a feeling of uncertainty came over me as I read the book's references to filet mignons and even the cheap blueplate turkey served from a shabby lunchcart. I knew, although half an hour past midnight, that I had to get myself into the kitchen and make myself something to eat. Earlier in the day I had gone to Shop Rite with my sister and grandmother to do some grocery shopping. I made sure my sister bought two packages of pork rolls. Each package only had four slices, and I thought in the back of my mind that I maybe ought to have opted for the cheaper Shop Rite brand pork rolls, which contained nine slices each. But I wanted the Taylor brand, and as soon as I got home, I toasted two waffles and two pork rolls and enjoyed my three o'clock breakfast. As I approached my refrigerator half past twelve, I reached again for the pork rolls. Only one package remained as my sister had finished the other half of the first package. I had in mind a nice breakfast-like sandwich. Specifically, I envisioned a toasted sandwich with a pork roll, eggs, and cheese. As a 4th grade football player, I made a stop at the bagel store every Saturday morning and ordered the exact same sandwich: taylor ham, egg, and cheese. I would arrive at practice half an hour before anyone else, sit on the wooden bench, and, eat while holding the foil-wrapped sandwich delicately with one hand and holding a glass bottle of Snapple in the other. On some Saturdays, I would include a square crumb cake for dessert. It was fortunate for me that Saturday practices were always easy pregame run throughs which required minimal physical exertion - I was usually so full that hard running would have caused me great discomfort. I took out my frying pan and started up the stove. I'm not much of a regular in the kitchen, but I know how to use the basic things like the stove, toaster oven, microwave, and the blender. I took one slice of pork roll and let it sizzle on the frying pan. Meanwhile, I took two slices of white bread and tossed them into the toaster oven. Afterwards, I took out two eggs and a slice of white American cheese. Now, thinking about fried eggs this late did not bode well with my health conscience; for some reason, the notion of a "fried" egg as compared to a "scrambled" or "boiled" egg seemed so much unhealthier. I told myself that I would scramble my eggs tonight. I had never personally scrambled eggs before. I had instances where an egg being fried was popped and the outcome looked scrambled, but this was to be the first time I would intentionally scramble my eggs. I cracked the two eggs into a bowl and mixed them. I knew that my grandmother and mother always added some milk into scrambled eggs, so I took out my skim milk and poured a bit. I guess I poured too much because the mix turned out very milky-looking. By this time, the toasts and pork roll were finished and I put those aside on a small plate. I poured the milky concoction onto the frying pan and immediately, the mix sprawled over the pan. I let it cook for a bit and when some parts of it had congealed, I took the spatula and tossed bits of the egg around, creating the scramble. The product looked very white, but it was scrambled eggs nonetheless. I added some salt and then added the scrambled eggs onto my toast-pork roll combo. With the eggs still steaming warm, I placed the slice of cheese on and watched it melt. The meal was satisfying and went well with the banana-orange juice. It was an amusing experience to have added scrambled eggs to my cooking repertoire. My midnight snack made me realize that one day, this - cooking food for myself on my own - would be the norm. Lately, I've been blasted by my family for being too dependent - being fed all the time, taking parents' money, being of no help to the family, etc. I guess I have been guilty of some of those charges, but to have been offered money and food and been left alone without worries and now, all of a sudden, being portrayed as a selfish, family-neglecting, lazy son? Not fair. But as my scrambled eggs taught me today, I guess it's time to start acting more indepedent. I'm eighteen years old and definitely not a dummy. It's certainly not the most comfortable feeling in the world to take initiatives with my life and bear full responsibility, but as I did with my scrambled eggs, I'm willing to cook, and eat what I cook. |
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