Thinking About Eggs

and how I make an omelette

Boiled eggs for Lo’, actually with pita soldiers, the eggs from Kent

When I was little my grandma, a very proper person, would lay the table for breakfast — a magic trick, I felt, as I crept in pyjama’d and sleepy. A boiled egg would arrive. “Off with its head!” she’d cry as I drove my knife through its shell. That this was always the unspoken execution …