I remember the first time I saw an egg on top of an entreé. I’d ordered the asparagus soup with a poached egg at a restaurant called Jars. Many other dishes, such as spaghetti alla carbonara, expectedly contain some form of egg (fun fact: carbonara is Italian for “there’s an egg in here.”) But seeing an egg floating gently atop my soup like a yolk-filled lily pad was the first time I realized that, actually, anyone can put an egg on top of basically anything to make it over one thousand times fancier.
I haven’t been able to stop putting one on everything ever since.
Things escalated quickly. I pressed holes into every slice of toast I made, then filled them all with gorgeous, sunny side up eggs. Voilà! My breakfast had suddenly been upgraded from a beige carb to an Instagram-worthy miracle, and I’d been upgraded from a mess in the kitchen to some kind of culinary genius.
“Am I acclaimed chef Mario Batali?,” I thought.
I may never know. What I do know is that I couldn’t stop putting an egg on everything I ate. By the end of the month I’d made a hundred bowls of pork ramen and placed a soft-boiled egg on top of every one. They tasted amazing, like salty custard pies but nearly one million percent better because they were eggs and on top of another food. I even put an egg on top of a Nature Valley granola bar. And although I once enjoyed a helping of milk on my Raisin Bran, I began to eat it dry, garnished only with a shirred, parmesan-covered egg. And honestly, it tastes better than you think.
But I began to worry that there was nothing I wouldn’t put an egg on.
I decided to stop myself, but trying was almost impossible. I tried not cooking the eggs, but it didn’t help: I just got Salmonella, over and over again.
And just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, I fell through the floor.
One day I baked an egg, and finding nothing new in my pantry to put it on, I saw my pet rabbit, Duchess. I ate her. I ate her with an egg on top. Even scarier, where would I try putting an egg next?
No longer able to keep what I’d been doing a secret, I sat my boyfriend down―bawling, wanting to barf but not because I just had a delicious meal with an egg on top―and told him everything. His response: “I know, babe. Eggs or no eggs, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”
I put a fried egg on his head and from that point on, there was no stopping me. I ate him. I ate my boyfriend with an egg on top.
No, I’ll never stop putting an egg on everything and yes, I still have moments when I realize I’ve accidentally topped and subsequently destroyed my loved ones with a runny omelette or frittata. But I take it as a reminder: All you can do is forgive yourself…and never, ever stop to ask why you must do this.
