INCREDIBLE? MAYBE. EDIBLE? NEVER.
I have long been of the opinion that nothing good can come from a chicken butt. As a result, I have not touched an egg since I was seven years old. Why seven, you ask? I had barely reached that tender age when a particularly malicious nanny forced me to eat . . . gag . . . an egg salad sandwich. The result was not pretty. Though it did make a rather interesting pattern on her pink sweater.
What's my problem with eggs? Let's start with . . . everything. Their size, shape, smell, taste, origin (again, chicken butt). It's not that I'm allergic. It's just that I'm fairly sure they're evil. Only Satan could create a food product so perfectly revolting.
But now that I am an adult, (I think), it's time that I came to terms with my egg phobia. Other childhood culinary foes (beets, vegemite, haggis) have already been conquered. Eggs are the last frontier.
Yet, had it not been for Ms. Lauren Myracle, I might never have summoned the courage to take this all-important step. And I certainly would never have gone so far as to taste the dreaded FRIED EGG. Oozing with greasy yellow nastiness, fried eggs have long featured in my worst nightmares. I have never, ever, ever considered putting one in my mouth. I would have rather sucked down a sautéed slug. A caramelized cockroach. Or a broiled dung beetle.
Until today . . . .
SEE PICTURES BELOW (Sorry, camera broke! Had to take them with my blackberry!) I'm wearing sunglasses you you can't see my tears.
The Result of this Cruel Experiment:
You're all lucky that my photographer refused to follow me into the bathroom where I deposited the rest of the egg exactly where it belonged--the toilet! Never again. Trust your fears, people. You have them for a reason!