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Flamed Eggs

The pan was getting an epileptic fit on the stove when I reached it, following the trail of the stench. The water had evaporated leaving the eggs completely burnt. 

This is not how boiled eggs were supposed to be. It was the first ever time I saw them like that. They are not difficult to cook. Boiling is not even cooking, but it does take precise timing to get the firmness right. Four minutes, they say. 240 seconds sounds better; seconds are easier to count. I don't like stopwatches, or to keep glancing at the clock. 

I had covered the eggs with enough water to drown them. Switched on the stove. Heard the first hissing sounds and knew that the dance would begin. I meandered away. There was a phone call, I think. After that I sat down to write, because I had to. Egged on? Thoughts waited to be born as words. 

That is when the stench of rotting smoke reached me. How can smoke rot? Everything can rot, if it is born of something else and exists outside of itself. Smoke comes from fire, fire from wood, leaves, paper, garbage. So, smoke carries those smells — in gratitude, from love, a sense of belonging, or as a whiplash.

I first assumed it was from outside, possibly a bonfire of waste. Such folly often misleads us. It is such folly that we don't realise when we have been careless or believed that things would take care of themselves. 

There was nothing I could do to salvage the eggs, but the sight engulfed me with a strange fear. They were sticking to the pan and clinging to each other. The blackened portions looked ghoulish because some of the whites of the shell were visible. The shells were cracked like barren earth. 

Instead of waiting for the heat to dissipate, I added water. It all returned. The smoke, the stench. The cracks deepened. The water spluttered. The gasping continued. 

It lasted for more than four minutes. Or 240 seconds.

I could tell, for no thoughts were waiting to be born just then. 

© Farzana Versey

12 Comment count
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Ugh! That happened to me

Ugh! That happened to me once.  

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It was my first time,

It was my first time, Katherine, and I shall always remember it...especially since it got me thinking.


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I like soft boiled egg also, so I try to stay in the kitchen, but quite often, I end up eating hard boiled eggs.  I have a phone a few feet away from my stove, but cordless does not work for this situation.  I've burned my food like that in a number of occasions to the point it makes me feel I rather buy a new pan than washing and scraping it.  I'm glad you didn't burn your house.  This must be a warning to keep it safe.

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Talking about pans, Keiko, I keep replacing them, and this even though I hardly ever cook. Surprisingly, this time it was easy. I guess it has turned to embers.

I don't know what would have happened, but what was happening before my eyes was a gory sight. The pan would have jumped and hit the ceiling probably. I know I've got to be careful, and not just about boiling eggs!


PS: I read somewhere that Prince Charles has some 12 types of consistency of boiled eggs prepared, and as per his whims and desire on a particular morning he chooses from runny to the very hard boiled ones...

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12 types?

My favorites are two sunny side up eggs with some hashbrown potato and three or four minute boiled eggs.  I can think of other types, but not 12.  He probably love eggs so much.  Wait.  If he choose runny type, then one minute to 12 minute egg are twelve already.   It could be two min. to thirteen min. egg.  

I love the shape of eggs by the way.  You and I have egg shaped face.  

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I spoke in similes as a kid,

I spoke in similes as a kid, and would ask in Hindi for "dariye waala andaa", which literally means egg of the sea, referring to sunrise, of course. 

Runny eggs are too messy, though they probably make a great coating for other foods. 

About shapes, in drawing class isn't that how they teach to draw faces by thinking of an egg? 


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Vivid Image


Yes, this does happen and this kind of thing may be unavoidable among creative people.  We think we have timed it just right but the telephone rings, or UPS delivers a package, or we remember that we forgot to water the fledging tree just outside the door, or a timer reminds us that clothes need to be moved from washer to dryer because people are waiting; and so it goes.  Soft-boiled eggs transform into hard-boiled or something much less desirable. 

The up side is that eggs are versatile, as the prince of wales and others have discovered.  And they are forgiving; more are available every day as opposed to the blooms from a century plant, for example. 

But alas, our cookware often is "kaput," as someone once said about a restaurant kitchen when we wondered why our entrees were taking so long.


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Indeed eggs are versatile and, as you point out, stay on beyond the blooms. Nobody gifts eggs, though, unless they are for Easter where their mere form is used.

I don't know about creativity, but I tend to be absent-minded; I've walked out of the house wearing clothes with the laundry tag! Had it been a feather, at least the plumage might have made a statement...


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Flambéed eggs a la Versey!

Flambéed eggs a la Versey! Yummy. mx

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I wish, I wish, M, that the

I wish, I wish, M, that the inflamed were flambéed. Or just smokin' hot...


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Ah sure, your as hot as any

Ah sure, your as hot as any eggs can be! That's a fact! mx

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Ah, M, one also lives with

Ah, M, one also lives with the imminence of embers...Or just hope for heat to also give warmth.