a nice breakfast
The first few mornings I was at the shack with grandad during hunting season, he made breakfast. His cooking style was what one might call rough and ready. It sometimes seemed less than appetizing to me. He would usually make fried eggs, and those eggs were really fried. They tended to be somewhat crispy on the edges, kind of rubbery all around and cooked solid through and through. I did my best to get them down though, with the help of toast and hot chocolate, coffee or tea. If there was bacon, sometimes it was limp and chewy, other times blackened to a crisp, and occasionally limp at one end and blackened at the other. The toast also might be partially limp and partially burnt.
While struggling to finish a particularly rubbery portion of egg, I told grandad that I was good at cooking breakfast, particularly fried eggs, and I volunteered to show him the very next day. I think he had forgotten my offer, or hadn't taken it seriously because he was getting ready to cook breakfast when I came into the kitchen and reminded him that I was going to cook. Once he realized I was serious, he was happy to go sit at the table and enjoy his coffee while I prepared the meal.
I cooked some bacon, taking care to cook it evenly until it turned crispy all over. I put the bacon on a plate with some old newspaper to soak up excess grease and poured most of the bacon grease remaining in the pan into an old coffee can. I left enough to fry the eggs, which I carefully cracked and emptied into the pan making sure not to break the yolks. I had the burner set on a medium heat so I could closely monitor the state of the eggs. When the whites had solidified enough, I flipped the eggs, again taking care not to break the yolks. I used the spatula to cut small holes in the whites around the yolk, so when I flipped them over again, even the whites right next to the yolk would be fully cooked, while the yolks themselves would not harden.
While the eggs were cooking, I started some bread toasting on the little metal toaster device that went on a gas burner. I kept turning the slices of bread to make sure they were evenly toasted but not burned. They finished before the eggs were ready, so I moved them to the wood stove to keep warm.
When the eggs were done, I put them on plates, with the crisp bacon laid out next to them. I buttered the bread, spreading the butter evenly from edge to edge, and put the toast on the edge of the plate ninety degrees from the bacon strips.
I was proud of the breakfast I had created. Instead of a haphazardly placed mass of rubberized egg with dark and crispy parts, and simultaneously undercooked and overcooked bacon and toast, my plates had two round white nearly perfectly cooked eggs, crisp bacon and generously buttered golden brown toast. It probably took me a little bit longer to make this than it took grandad to make breakfast. I think that, combined with the fact that he wasn't the one who was doing it, made grandad a little bit impatient.
I brought the plates out to the table, and as I set the plate down in front of him, he immediately set to eating it. I enjoyed my breakfast quite a lot, and I kept looking at grandad to see if I could see any sign of appreciation on his face. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary though. But surely the nice texture of completely cooked egg whites, with a somewhat liquid yolk, crisp, non-burned bacon and golden brown toast must have been more enjoyable than what he was used to.
When we were done, with a little bit of anticipation, I asked him what he thought of breakfast, quite ready for some small amount of praise.
Grandad said, "What? Oh, it was okay."
From then on, I cooked breakfast every day.
While struggling to finish a particularly rubbery portion of egg, I told grandad that I was good at cooking breakfast, particularly fried eggs, and I volunteered to show him the very next day. I think he had forgotten my offer, or hadn't taken it seriously because he was getting ready to cook breakfast when I came into the kitchen and reminded him that I was going to cook. Once he realized I was serious, he was happy to go sit at the table and enjoy his coffee while I prepared the meal.
I cooked some bacon, taking care to cook it evenly until it turned crispy all over. I put the bacon on a plate with some old newspaper to soak up excess grease and poured most of the bacon grease remaining in the pan into an old coffee can. I left enough to fry the eggs, which I carefully cracked and emptied into the pan making sure not to break the yolks. I had the burner set on a medium heat so I could closely monitor the state of the eggs. When the whites had solidified enough, I flipped the eggs, again taking care not to break the yolks. I used the spatula to cut small holes in the whites around the yolk, so when I flipped them over again, even the whites right next to the yolk would be fully cooked, while the yolks themselves would not harden.
While the eggs were cooking, I started some bread toasting on the little metal toaster device that went on a gas burner. I kept turning the slices of bread to make sure they were evenly toasted but not burned. They finished before the eggs were ready, so I moved them to the wood stove to keep warm.
When the eggs were done, I put them on plates, with the crisp bacon laid out next to them. I buttered the bread, spreading the butter evenly from edge to edge, and put the toast on the edge of the plate ninety degrees from the bacon strips.
I was proud of the breakfast I had created. Instead of a haphazardly placed mass of rubberized egg with dark and crispy parts, and simultaneously undercooked and overcooked bacon and toast, my plates had two round white nearly perfectly cooked eggs, crisp bacon and generously buttered golden brown toast. It probably took me a little bit longer to make this than it took grandad to make breakfast. I think that, combined with the fact that he wasn't the one who was doing it, made grandad a little bit impatient.
I brought the plates out to the table, and as I set the plate down in front of him, he immediately set to eating it. I enjoyed my breakfast quite a lot, and I kept looking at grandad to see if I could see any sign of appreciation on his face. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary though. But surely the nice texture of completely cooked egg whites, with a somewhat liquid yolk, crisp, non-burned bacon and golden brown toast must have been more enjoyable than what he was used to.
When we were done, with a little bit of anticipation, I asked him what he thought of breakfast, quite ready for some small amount of praise.
Grandad said, "What? Oh, it was okay."
From then on, I cooked breakfast every day.
posted by danteand at 10/07/2005 01:16:00 PM
2 Comments:
Mm...maybe you should cook me some eggs, those sounded lovely.
It's great how your Grandads praise came in the form of you cooking breakfast from then on, hehe..
I would be glad to cook you some eggs if I still could, but I have lost my former ability to do so.
I got the feeling that even if the breakfast I had made was overcooked fried eggs and half burnt half undercooked bacon, he would not have behaved any differently. But even if he didn't really notice the difference in quality, I think he probably felt like he was helping me to build character by letting me take on that responsibility.
Post a Comment
<< Home