Eggs-ceptional Memories
My late-Dad never met an egg he didn’t savor.
Indeed, among my earliest memories of my father are of him standing at the stove on weekends, cracking eggs. Sometimes he’d fry them up in butter, sunny-side up or scramble them with diced Spam or leftover bits of Chinese barbecued pork.
Other times, he’d flip them into omelets stuffed with melted cheddar cheese and sweet-acidic stewed tomatoes from a can. And now and then, he’d delicately bake them in individual Pyrex dishes dusted with bright paprika and Kraft Parmesan shaken right out of the familiar green can.
My Dad’s love of eggs didn’t stop at breakfast. Occasionally, when we’d sit down to a dinner of various Chinese dishes at home, my Dad would be at the stove, frying up an egg over-easy, which he deposited on top of the mound of steamed white rice on his plate. Then, he’d drizzle on a little thick, savory oyster sauce. I’d watch him break the bright yolk with his fork until it ran over the pearly grains. He never said a word as he took that first bite. But I could tell just from his contented expression that this simple combination of rice and egg was one that brought him untold comfort.
Is it any wonder that one of the first things I learned to cook by myself were eggs? I learned just by watching my Dad all those mornings, so that by the time I was in elementary school, I could whip up an omelet just like that or scramble a few eggs until they were lovely, fluffy, soft curds.
Even today, I share my Dad’s appreciation of eggs. No matter what time of day, if you have these inexpensive staples in the fridge, you have have the makings of a simple, satisfying meal. They’ve saved me many a time when I needed nourishment in a hurry for a harried lunch or late dinner.
When I saw “Shirred Eggs in Prosciutto Crudo Cups” in the new “Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter” (Stewart, Tabori & Chang) by my friends, the prolific cookbook authors, Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough, I knew it would be the perfect dish to make near Father’s Day in memory of my late-Dad.
To be sure, my Dad probably never even knew the term, “shirred.” No doubt, he would have thought the addition of prosciutto too fancy. Still, there’s no mistaking that at its heart, this dish of baked eggs is very reminiscent of what my Dad used to make for me as a child.
