In a U-shaped Wisconsin apartment kitchen, I stir three eggs in a pan on top of an electric stove. The only light on is the one above the cooktop and outside the sky is dark. This night I do not care if people can see in my upstairs apartment through the sliding glass door. I used to cook the eggs too fast on high heat but over the years I know to stir them over low heat. The eggs are fluffier this way. Sometimes I add milk or cream before I whip them with a fork, but tonight I do not.
The bread is laid out on the plate, Miracle Whip is spread from edge to edge. The slices are in liminal space before the eggs are laid haphazardly on top. Salt and pepper are added before capped with the bread.
When I was young I would attempt to eat the sandwich with my hands holding it together. As an adult I eat it with a fork, but never the same fork that I whipped the eggs with.
I eat in the bedroom with the TV on. It is early 2022 and my life has burned down again, this time not at my hand. When I don’t know what to do, or what to eat, scrambled egg sandwiches are what I make. It is how I feed myself.
A question swirls around the internet and shows up in my feed, “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
With no hesitations, my answer is eggs.
They are versatile and my comfort. They are simultaneously poor man food and fancy restaurant menu food. I have eaten them scrambled, in quiche, poached, soft-boiled, hard-boiled, and are a staple of baking. I have stirred mushrooms and spinach into them to make a fake (easier) omelet because it tasted the same - these scrambled eggs with bits of fungus and plant.
My Oma used to make the scrambled egg sandwiches for my Opa and usually late at night. Two slices of white bread, Miracle Whip, and fluffy scrambled eggs was her recipe. I only remember the sandwich appearing; I never remember watching her assemble it. The sandwich is incredibly soft. It is a comfort to me, and when I am alone, it is my go-to food.
The kitchen was Oma’s sanctuary and mostly closed off to anyone, including me. There are rare instances I watched her make food.
As much as I adore the scrambled egg sandwiches, they are tangled in grief. They are a reminder of my Oma who has now been gone for 25 years and all the situations where it was the only thing I could muster energy to make for myself.
Kathy Fish shares a writing exercise called “Perhapsing”. It is a piece written from the POV of what might have happened. When my second husband died in Wisconsin I did not know how I wanted to move forward. He died unexpectedly in January and a decision about the apartment lease needed to be made in February. I felt the logical thing to do was to sign a year lease. My life had blown apart and I was trying to keep as much order as I could in between paperwork and lawyers. I suddenly had more freedom than I ever believed I would, and didn’t know exactly what to do with it, but I had time to figure it out.
My second husband didn't like eggs, but prepared them well. The family story was he ate them once with amaretto when he was little and was the only way he could stomach them.
In one Perhapsing scenario I wrote in my notebook I would move to Minneapolis, Minnesota because it is known for its small press publishing and has a fully funded MFA program. If I didn’t get in, I would work for a small press or bookstore and have a studio apartment where I would survive on scrambled egg sandwiches and avocado toast. My time would be spent reading, writing, and walking.
In another scenario, I would stay in Wisconsin. The Perhapsing plan for the summer was to always be writing, reading, running, or biking and then return to teacher coaching in the fall.
I did get my passport, but none of the Perhapsing plans included extensive travel, which upsets me to a certain degree. When I divorced my first husband I should have traveled then instead of tangling myself in a web I would not escape for ten years. The freedom from divorce felt different than freedom from a death. At the time of the divorce, my son was not yet a teenager. I could have taken him on great adventures. The plan was to get the passport then but I never followed through. I could have eaten eggs all over the world.
This was all before circumstances allowed me to return to Indiana.
But I return to the question: Why are the scrambled eggs the anchor?
They represent versatility. Before the orange cheeto man, they were reasonably priced. They are easy to prepare and easy on the stomach. They are also a connector. Eggs are a tie to my ancestors and important people in my life.
All of my friend Jane W’s food feels like it is made with intention and love. Her old recipes have stories to go with them which enhance the experience. I have many recipes from her including Birthday pasta, gingerbread, and a Dutch baby, but the dinner I remember most was scrambled eggs with cheese and mushrooms. We drank white wine and ate and laughed together. We probably talked about books too. It felt fancy and simple at the same time.
My late MIL called them strangled eggs and I use her term when I offer them for breakfast here in the tiny house. For my husband, they are served with rye toast.
I made special eggs for my son when he was young. Whipped raw eggs are drizzled into a boiling water tornado and then strained.
Eggs are reserved to be made for and eaten with the people who are in my inner circle and the ones I love the most. It is one of the few ways that I care for myself.
Now I make the scrambled egg sandwiches when I have a taste for them, or I miss my Oma, or I am hungry or I am alone in the house. It is another thing in my life I am attempting to create new joyous connections around rather than memories. The life I live now feeds me in more nourishing ways than any other section of my timeline, and I am grateful. But if I forget, I just need to make a scrambled egg sandwich to anchor myself and it will probably be late at night like my Oma taught me.
Are eggs an important food to you somehow? I would love to know how are you are connected to them in the comments.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate you.
Makes me think. I like eggs but not quite in the same way. Is there a food that I have strong emotional connections to? I will have to think. 🤔
Really enjoying these recollections centered around food, Tammy. Beautiful.