I eat a lot of eggs. Like probably way more than my fair share, to the point that I’m scared to have my cholesterol tested. Sometimes I eat oatmeal with the sole intention of cleaning out my arteries because I’m pretty sure I can feel bits of scrambled yolk clinging to my blood cells.
It’s not really my fault though. I’m home a lot during the day, and lunch options are scarce in my neighborhood, unless I want to *gasp* get dressed and sit down to a three course meal. That seems extreme, even for my appetite, so I often turn to the relatively easy, protein rich egg to get me through the day.
Scrambled with cheese and salsa or fried with a good slice of fresh bread, I can’t think of a more satisfying lazy lunch. Sometimes I keep a bowl of those suckers hard boiled in the fridge, telling myself I’m only going to eat the whites as a snack.
What makes this egg habit more problematic is that l’omelette is a standard cafe offering. So even if I do make it out for lunch, I often find my self face to face with the most perfect, pillowy pile of eggs, surely sautéed in a block of unadulterated butter the size of my head. And how can you turn something like that down?
Part of my egg obsession also stems from a craving for good old American crap food, like the transcendent breakfast concoction known as the Egg N Cheese. Preferably cooked on a well loved greasy diner skillet and sandwiched between whole wheat toast or an everything bagel, the Egg N Cheese is the stuff of my dreams. It may be the only food that actually tastes better when Kraft singles are involved. I’m swooning a little bit right now just thinking about eating one.
But back to Paris, where standard breakfast includes coffee and a cigarette and the Egg N Cheese has failed to catch on. Thus I cling to other eggs, and hope cardiac arrest isn’t lurking around the corner.
So you can understand why I wasn’t at all upset when the spicy Chinese beef and broccoli dish I ordered last weekend at dinner came topped with a miniature hard boiled quail egg. It seemed rather odd perched there, and not having much experience with quail eggs, I wondered if it would taste funky.
But it didn’t! It tasted just like an awesome mini egg. You could have made super bite-size deviled eggs with it! Oh the possibilities! I told Husband that if I could get my hands on some quail eggs, I would hard boil 2 dozen of those suckers and pop them like candy.
Then lo and behold: A few days later, while cruising through my regular egg aisle (non refrigerated over here, of course), look what I found:
I feel like only in France would you be able to easily find mass marketed cocktail quail eggs. And I am genuinely elated about that. Tiny Egg N Cheese sandwiches, anyone?
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Definition: Quail. Actually here I think it might refer to a specific quail-like bird from a certain region in France.
Definition: Egg. Eggity egg egg egg. Breakfast lunch and dinner of champions. As in,
“Eating 12 oeufs de caille is like the equivalent of 3 regular eggs, right? So I’ll have a 24 oeuf omelet.”