Egg Love

I don't really like eating eggs.  Or should I say, I don't like eating most eggs.  It's a very strict egg approval system I have.  They can't be plain, they have to have stuff in them.  But no omelets please - because those are way too egg like.  Basically, they have to be scrambled with cheese, but in a skillet and not on a griddle.  Quiche totally gets a free pass because of the level of cheese and other yummy stuff and because it looks like pie and makes me feel fancy.  Stratta too - again, because it's fancy.  And the new McDonalds' egg white mcmuffin - totally my dream come true because trying to cut the yellow out of my previous mcmuffins was a very tricky process that I never fully mastered.

I have a reason for rambling on this, I promise.  Because while I am often suspicious of eggs, they are also a favorite symbol of love in my life.  My dad has the very best cheese eggs in the whole wide world.  They are his signature and nothing else quite matches them.  He takes the ordinary and elevates it with an iron skillet, milk, at least 2 cheeses when possible, a lot of patience, and knowing exactly when to turn off the stove.        
There is something extra special about your father cooking for you.  My mom can out cook most of the world, so I have lots of food favorites from her.  But I have a steady image of my dad, all 6 feet and 6 inches of him standing patiently at a stove because his family loves his cheese eggs and because he loves to make us smile.  His hands are rough and crooked from years of football, meat cutting, and farming but he carefully uses them to scrape the sides of the skillet just right to make sure the eggs keep the best texture.  It's a bit like the giant at the top of the beanstalk stopping to paint a tea pot.

The art of cooking scrambled eggs has eluded me, along with pancakes and the perfect grilled cheese.  I came close to getting scrambled eggs right last week.  I followed a tutorial and everything but they didn't hold a match to my daddy's.

This morning, someone asked me to use this week to think about what kind of legacy I wanted to leave.  To write it out.  I hope I leave people with something that is the best of version of a basic truth. Something simple that becomes beautiful in its truth and consistency.  Like love or mercy.  Or cheese eggs.