Eggs

You're going to have to break a few.

Woman with Egg (1957) by Leonora Carrington

I just made the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever eaten. As a service to my subscribers, I’m going to share my recipe.

Get started the night before by fixating on the upcoming election. Yes, you’ve mostly kept it out of your mind until now. Good work! These are the exact conditions you need to experience a full-blown panic attack. Panic attacks are in season at the moment, and experts believe that, thanks to climate change and emerging threats to democracy, the season will be longer than usual this year.

If you’re not adequately panicked, sometimes it can be helpful to read as much as you can about the election in the New York Times right before bed. Keep reading until you’re pretty sure you won’t be able to get to sleep at all. Once you’re absolutely sure you won’t get to sleep, it’s time to get to sleep.

Toss and turn for at least two hours. This part is important, so don’t skip it. After two or more hours, you’ll finally fall into a fitful, dreamless, not-quite-sleeping state. Make sure to wake up at least five or six times before sunrise. Each time you wake up, notice that you have a splitting headache and your neck hurts. Don’t shift positions or take an Advil, just suffer through it.

After about six hours of this, you should be feeling pretty foggy and unrested. Ideally your headache is still pounding away, plus your neck should be all locked up by now. If you can’t turn your neck to the right without severe pain, you’re on the right track.

Drive your younger daughter to school. Strain to change lanes without injuring your neck in the process. Avoid talking about the election. Don’t talk about it at all. Keep your mouth shut. Then mention it anyway. Feel very anxious while telling your daughter there’s no reason to feel anxious. When she says she’s decided not to stress about the whole thing, tell her “Good idea!” in a tone that makes it very clear that you no longer have that choice and you might never sleep soundly or achieve full neck rotation again.

“I don’t think it’s as apocalyptic as everyone thinks,” she will say to you.

“I absolutely agree,” you should say back while picturing a wide range of apocalyptic outcomes. Beat yourself up for worrying about these things. Worry about how hysterical you’ve become. Become hysterical over it.

Then say, “Have a great day!” without any conviction whatsoever, and smile weakly.

If your daughter averts her eyes and moves swiftly away from the car like it’s on fire, you’ll know you got it exactly right.

***

Proceed immediately to your doctor’s office to get your a1c rechecked. For best results, your last a1c test should’ve indicated that you might be prediabetic. Yes, you’re right on the line, but the writing is on the wall, that’s obvious. Nevertheless, try to be irrationally hopeful that your numbers have improved magically. There is no reason for your hope, but hope anyway. Place all of your hope in arbitrary numbers. Then start to feel preemptively ill over your own optimism.

Vow not to mention the election to the lab tech. Mention it anyway. Try to sound relaxed about it. Say “At least it will be exciting!” This does not sum up your feelings at all. Ponder the vast chasm that lies between your words and your true feelings.

“I don’t like excitement anymore,” the lab tech will say. “I used to love excitement but the world has changed since then.” Feel very afraid to ask her what she means, but ask her anyway.

“I’m afraid to go anywhere now,” she’ll answer just as she’s jabbing you in the arm with a needle. “Movies, the grocery store? Terrible things happening everywhere nowadays.” Tell her you understand. Tell her to hang in there. Back out the door feeling ill. You’re almost ready to cook, but you don’t know that yet. All you’re thinking about now is getting back into bed and staying there.

That’s exactly what we want. This part is important, so don’t skip it!

Go home and find your husband in bed. Apparently he pulled something in his back while he was walking the dogs and now he has to cancel all of his meetings and stay home all day. Now you’re screwed. You can’t just get into bed next to him. Someone needs to walk the dogs and straighten up. You have no excuse to get into bed now.

Walk into the kitchen feeling glum. Open the fridge. Notice that there are a lot of eggs in there. Check the date. Miraculously, they only expired a week ago.

Crack three eggs into a bowl. You deserve three, it’s been a hard day so far and it’s only 9:30 am. Find a yellow onion. Cut it in half and then thinly slice it. Melt about three tablespoons of butter in a frying pan. Watch the butter bubble. Do you feel a tiny bit less upset now? Good. Now add the onions. Marvel at how thinly sliced they are. You were born to make these eggs. Turn the stove down to very low. Add a few grinds of salt and pepper.

Now go back and ask your husband if he wants some eggs. He will say no. Offer to rub some Icy Hot into his back.

“That never really helps,” he’ll say.

“You have to at least try a few things, even if they don’t help that much,” you should say back. “You have to stay optimistic.” He looks at you like this is impossible. Of course you agree with him. It is impossible. But don’t say that.

Instead, wash the Icy Hot off your hands and go back to the onions. Scrape the pan a little. Add another tablespoon of butter. Yes, I’m serious, more butter. Do you think I’m fucking around, here? Do you understand how high the stakes are, or do you have your head in the sand completely? What the fuck is your problem, anyway?

Seriously, I mean it, what is your fucking problem?

No I’m not being weird, you’re being weird.

Get the seeded bread and make some toast. It’s going to be so much more satisfying than that stale sourdough. Trust me on this. It’s kind of chewy and springy. That’s what you need today. Not crusty and dry. You need chewy. Listen to me: Do exactly as I say and do not question it.

Whisk the eggs, and add about three tablespoons of milk to them, then whisk some more. Next, pour the eggs over the caramelized onions. Tip the pan so the eggs spread out.

Crumble goat cheese on top. You’ll need a lot of it. Don’t skimp.

Salt and pepper again, but not too much. Now put the lid on top. Make sure the flame on the stove is very low.

Go check on your husband again. He really doesn’t want any eggs, he says, which is good because you don’t feel like sharing anymore.

Put the toast on a plate. Put half of the eggs on the plate. Pour a can of lemon sparkling water over ice. Go back to the pan. Put the other half of the eggs on the plate.

Sit down somewhere very comfortable where you can relax your bad neck. Put the plate of eggs on your chest.

Take a bite.

I know, right? Absolute perfection.

See how it works? Some things turn out exactly as you want them to, in spite of your fears. You think you’re doomed, but you’re not. Everything was going to be fine the whole time, you just didn’t realize it before. You probably should’ve trusted that it would all work out. It would’ve saved you a lot of agony and despair.

But… I hope you didn’t skip any steps.

---

Thanks for reading Ask Molly!