My history with eggs.

In short: it's an atypical one.

In long:

I'm not entirely sure why, but I never ate eggs on their own, growing up. Was I freaked-out about where they came from? No. Did I hate how they looked or smelled when either raw or cooked? Not particularly. Do I enjoy asking myself questions, Rumsfeld-style, and answering them? Absolutely.

I do recall trying out a poached egg on toast when I was little, and being okay with it. I also remember my dad having hard-boiled eggs in those little egg cups, using his spoon to crack along the top of it, putting a little salt and pepper on the innards, and digging out the goodness inside. And I never minded having French toast, even though it's essentially fried eggs clinging to bread.

But eggs on their own? Nope.

In third year of university, we had an 8:30 - 10:00 class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (It might have been Mathematical Physics 1, and yes, it was as horrendous as it sounds. It was actually kinda useful, though.) The class would wrap up around 9:45, and the Physics building was on the east side of campus; if we hustled we could get to a place called Mel's Diner before 10, which meant the breakfast special would still be on.

I love eating breakfast in restaurants. It's probably my favourite meal to have out (and, oddly, probably the meal I enjoy making the most for myself at home). Ninety percent of the time I'll get the same thing: scrambled eggs (well done)*, brown toast (or rye if they have it), hash browns, and sausages. So, this would be what I'd order at Mel's, along with a coffee.

* Eggs, steaks, toast: cook the fuck out of it, please and thank you.

For a while I'd just give my eggs to someone else who was at the table, usually either my buddies Ben or Mike. But after a while, Mike -- who's turned into quite the foodie lately -- would ask why I couldn't just get them scrambled and eat them. "They don't have a lot of taste, and you could just put some Tabasco on them and eat them yourself."

Mike's a guy who I trust a lot on matters of taste. One of the first encounters I ever had with him was in residence; he was a big fan of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, which is a band I enjoy to this day. He told me he preferred songs without lyrics, which I initially dismissed as crazy-talk, but later came to agree with. I asked him, "If I was going to buy one thing at a grocery store and it'd make the most impact on what I cooked, what should I buy?", and he answered "Onions." -- that was absolutely correct. Also, we were in a band together, which was fun. And, we could/should have a reunion jam up in Ottawa pretty much anytime.

So, ever since, I've eaten them scrambled and enjoyed them. I don't ever make them for myself any other way, and if I get them in a restaurant, yup, they're scrambled. There are some Asian dishes where there are eggs cracked on top of things and the yolk percolates down and jesus CHRIST that's disgusting (and yes, I'm looking at you too, toast-yolk-dippers).

And that, friends, is why having summers off is great. You can take twenty minutes and describe your history with eggs on a Thursday afternoon.