When I get two eggs in the pan for my breakfast, it is all out war. Scrambles fall apart, stirred produces weird yolk streaks with a different texture, and my new favorite form–fried–break yolks when I flip them. Or better yet, they tear when I try to flip them. So most of the time, my mother is a wonderful person and cooks them for me. It’s not easy for me to admit defeat. Especially in the kitchen. So I again donned the hat of student and watched closely as my mother made the eggs.
And then I took matters into my own hands.