When I was small and breathtakingly annoying, I went through a phase of refusing to eat. As is the case with first world children who will never experience medical-grade hunger, it was a phase too brief to warrant serious concern, but carried on long enough to become a bit of a fucking drainer for everyone else.
I rebuffed meals with suffragette-zeal. My beach-ballish physique whittled away to near-nothing, and my parents were eventually looted of patience. While flatly unwilling to negotiate with a three-year-old, they still found themselves somewhat prompted biologically to keep me alive, and took it upon themselves to find punchy new ways to do so.
The only food I’d entertain, allegedly, was eggs. But only one egg, and only if served alongside toast soldiers, which I assume were more decorative than anything at this point. So eggs it was, every single day; usually scrambled, sometimes fried, but always, always, to my delight - a “double-yolker”, which I was assured were very, very rare and very, very lucky. Unaware that anything shifty was happening underfoot, I sensed this lucky streak was no coincidence, and became quickly convinced that these lucky eggs were somehow choosing me; that by some chemical law or trick of the moon, I was magic. The 1996 release of the film Matilda only fortified my speculations.
Then recently (like, uncomfortably so), I made an offhand comment to my parents about not seeing many double yolkers kicking about anymore, to which they laughed hysterically. It came to light that my lucky streak, horrifyingly, was not a feat of agricultural sorcery so much as it was them just cracking two eggs in a pan and telling me it was one. I was aghast, enraged, and quietly impressed.
Despite having now reckoned with the fact my childhood was a lie, I don’t hold a grudge against eggs. I still eat them more or less every day - usually scrambled, sometimes fried yet, bafflingly, never a double yolker. Here’s my favourite way to scramble them:
Whisk four eggs together (two “double yolkers”) in a small bowl until uniformly yellow. Season with two to three-ish good pinces of flaky salt and cracked pepper. Melt three heaped tablespoons of good butter in a nonstick skillet over low heat. VERY LOW (no but like, lower still). Add the beaten eggs and let them sit like that for just a minute. Then, using a spatula and a sweeping circular motion, fold the eggs around the pan again and again, until set and just set-but-not-quite. Remove from heat (they’ll keep cooking) and serve with good bread, scattered with chopped parsley or chives. This will serve two.