I Am the Egg Man

Tonight I chef-ed the perfect steamed sunny-side-up eggs.  This is no small feat. The conditions have to be perfect:

The eggs must be fresh.

The pan must be at just the right temperature.

The splash of water must be added at the correct time.

Even when all of the above conditions are met, one only has a grace period of about 10 seconds before the eggs cook beyond perfect.

Tonight my eggs were eggs-cellent.  Fucking flawless, if I do say so myself.  No timers.   No “Oh, I think they need another half a minute”.  I instinctively removed the pan from the element at eggs-actly the right time: whites completely snot-free and yolks just beginning to cook in a thin layer.

Never before in the history of the universe have there been more perfect eggs.

I was in The Zone.  I was Luke Skywalker.  I was the Karate Kid.

I was also under the influence of alcohol.  Which kinda groups me in the category with people who say, “I’m a much better driver after I’ve had a drink or two.”

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