By Mia Miriam Sojan
An abomination to culinary arts is what Gordon Ramsay would say if he ever found out about my culinary escapade with what has become the bane of my existence – eggs. They may be simple and wholesome, chefs may even go as far as to call them a "versatile staple of breakfast" but these seemingly innocent slimy orbs of protein are the only reason as to why I'm no longer welcome in the kitchen.
I should've taken breaking the knife while trying to crack open an egg for the first time as a sign of those little army of white and yellow declaring their war on me. Each of these incidents more disastrous than the ones prior has me scarred both physically and mentally.
Everything began innocently enough. Upon reaching home from school, I was looking on ways to satiate my hunger when I saw them. Shiny and round, they looked unusually appetizing that evening and I decided that it was time my 12-year-old self, master the art of boiling an egg. Armed with a You Tube recipe and a brand new pressure cooker, I envisioned the perfect soft-boiled egg, one I'd heard the instructor call "gooey at the centre and soft on the edges" manifesting an easy outcome. I filled the pressure cooker up to the brim with water, gently dropped in the egg and closed the lid. Only minutes after monitoring my concoction, I saw steam hiss and the pressure gauge tremble, and I was confident, I truly felt like a responsible adult. Pondering on whether or not I should toast the bread, I missed the cooking time instructed, and what should have been a gentle boil turned into a veritable explosion of eggy chaos. The lid blew off with a ferocity I never knew a kitchen appliance could possess. The kitchen was soon an embarrassing mess, a splattered canvas of shattered shells and rubbery egg whites. It was a disaster of epic proportions, and I emerged from it not with a perfectly boiled egg but with deep disdain for the entire egg family.
Unfazed by my initial misadventure, at 14 years old I re-attempted cooking and egg hoping perhaps that frying an egg would be my redemption. After all, how hard could it be? Saying thus, I cracked the egg into a sizzling pan, eagerly awaiting the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. But in my eagerness, I neglected to consider the physics of cooking. So, in order to cook in accordance with what I thought was mathematically accurate, I tilted the pan to 30 degrees. I didn't realise the pan was made of steel and as I leaned in to admire my handiwork, the pan spat hot oil on me leaving a yolk shaped mark on my hand. The injury served as a cruel reminder of my folly, and as I ran off crying, waving my hands in the air for the cool breeze to provide comfort, I swore to myself that I would never do as much as to even think of cooking an egg.
But somehow fate had more awaiting. In my quest to avoid eggs altogether, I decided to wash the frying pan. Surely, the act of cleaning could not lead to disaster, right? Wrong. After flicking off the remnant pieces of eggs into the trash with the edge of my spatula, I turned on the hot water, I failed to see the remnants of grease that were still lingering in the sink. The combination of heat and the greasy residue ignited fire. Flames erupted, and I was left panicking, frantically searching for the fire extinguisher while simultaneously cursing the very existence of eggs. The sink, had turned into a fiery pit of eggy doom. My neighbour seeing the smoke seep through the closed door thought our house was on fire and called the fire department.
By then, it was clear: I was not meant to engage with eggs in any capacity. Each culinary attempt had turned into a blaring phrase of "never again" in my head. I stand resolute in my decision to avoid eggs, preferring instead to find comfort in the safety of cereal, toast, or any other breakfast item that doesn’t need a served side of potential disaster.
My hatred for eggs is not merely a culinary preference; it’s a survival instinct born from the ashes of my kitchen catastrophes. And while some may cherish their morning omelettes, I will remain steadfast in my commitment to egg-free living, armed with stories of the chaos they brought into my life.
By Mia Miriam Sojan
Comments