On Sunday we had planned a rowing party. All family and friends were to report with craft to our secret place on the river. Secret? Well, not really. But there is our dock plus a sandbar which equals no loud motor boats. We get to loll and float the afternoon away in an exquisite peace of dragon fly watching.
So what does this have to do with eggs? Nothing except in the flurry of telephone calls for last minute planning on Sunday morning, everyone was cooking eggs. Here is the run down
Scrambled at our house with a half a cup of milk and fresh ground pepper. Served with bacon (almost burnt, please), and fresh tomatoes. Don't forget the wheat toast saturated with butter and this year's strawberry jam.
Omelets. Oh God, how I wish I had the talent. My brother can even flip them. When I attempt to make omelets they turn to unattractive looking scrambles. He was even making them on the grille with vegetables. Also served with bacon.
Poached. Get out the frying pan with that poaching apparatus and the egg cups. Fill fry pan with water and put eggs in cups. A favorite of my grandmother and still enjoyed by a cousin who likes the eggs but loathes washing the egg cups afterwards.
Grizzly Camping Eggs - In memoriam. Each summer when school was out we would go camping. Not just to the local campground but Montana, California, Alaska... We were fortunate to see Alaska before it was a cruise ship "buy gold destination". Dad would make what we called Camping Eggs on the camp stove. First, fry bacon. When bacon is crispy, add eggs and scramble. These were called Camping Eggs until one morning at a remote Alaskan camp site there was a great rustling in the bushes. Off we dashed to the van just in time to see a huge grizzly bear come out to partake of our breakfast. Hence the new name.