Lately all I seem to crave are scrambled eggs, eggs sunny side up, eggs over easy, poached. I usually have eggs with toast and perhaps a glass of orange juice, but for the most part I keep it simple.
They have to be free range, organic, the kind with a thick shell and deep yellow yolk. They must be loose, flubbity almost, clear around edges of the whites. Crackless.
Like the egg, I must appear firm around the edges, flawless, fragile to the touch. When one has the rare opportunity to peak inside, crack me open, they'll see layerings, tiered and unusually random.
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