Salads, gourmet snacks, fries. Everywhere you look, eggs are turning up in one way or another to make our dishes that much more delicious. And caloric, of course.
But here's my dirty little secret about this trend, other than I freaking love it. I didn't use to love it at all. In fact, not even a little bit. I'm not a fried egg kind of girl, or at least, I wasn't. Nothing runny near my eggs for breakfast, please. The sight of someone mopping up the yolk of their soft-poached egg with their toast brought me close to gagging. (Never mind watching my adventurous 5 year old niece dip pieces of bread into an egg cup at Le Pain!)
But somehow, slowly but surely, the eggs kept creeping closer and closer to my plates of food. A bite of J's yummy egg and bacon panini here, a dip for the aforementioned fries there. The glory of the fried egg atop the Pastrami Primanti's. And then, before I knew it, I was straight up ordering dishes BECAUSE of the egg. I now scour menus for fried eggs and often jump in head first without thinking another thought.
Last night, I had such an experience. I had a late dinner with friends after work, at a local place that recently underwent a chef change that has been receiving rave reviews. Specifically from these friends who have eaten there every weekend for the last few weeks. There was one dish, however, getting the most praise, and I had been craving it. A burger, made more wonderous by the additions of bacon and a fried egg on top. And...ohmyholygodreally? Wow.
We split it. I wished we hadn't. My thighs/hips/chin are glad we did.
When J arrived home from his gig at 2:30am, I babbled to him about it. And again this morning. And again on the way to work. I'm making him go there tomorrow night. Enough said.