On Eggs As Forbidden Fruit

In recent months, I have been having annoying digestive wobblings and tummy troubles, and on dr's advice have been searching for the things I eat that seem to trigger this off, in order to eliminate them from my diet.


So it is that for the last 6 weeks or so, eggs have been banished, and, actually, it seems to be working (touch wood).

Now, you'd think that having found a potential trigger and stopped nasty painful yuck-stomach in its tracks for a while would make me happy. But I am a contrary creature, and thus all it appears to have done is to place the egg on a shiny, glittering pedestal of utter deliciousness in my brain. To the point that whenever Matt asks the inevitable 'What shall we do for dinner?' question, I have to refrain from shrieking 'EggseggseggsEGGSeggsarrrrrgheggs!' at him.

Photo from Delia online

Give me poached eggs on toast, topped in smoked salmon.

Give me a full English with them buttery, bright yellow and scrambled, or fried and ready to burst and ooze gold with the first touch of a fork.

Give me hollandaise sauce to eat with a spoon; give me glossy mayonnaise spread thick on crusty white bread; I want creamy, peppery carbonara; I want the glorious mix of bearnaise and ketchup to dip my chips in (possibly frowned upon by other foodies, for which I apologise ...try it, non-believers, it's divine).

Deliver me a spicy pepper and chorizo omelette, the eggs stained pinkish orange from the meat juices; I want eggs en cocotte with earthy, and oh-so-indulgent morels; give me eggy bread, crusty with sugar and sticky with maple syrup and strawberries, and please, oh please, give me thick, sunny custard.

This has been cathartic. Thank you.

Jen xx