egg

October 10, 2019

One of things I love about travelling, is the opportunity to bring unusual things home. I still kick myself for not buying half a dozen cheap-as-chips rugs in San Miguel Allende, or for leaving that hand carved mirror behind in Marrakech. When you’re on the side of the world, and you see something you love, buy it. One can’t be too practical about such purchases. This summer, we drove through the Hudson Valley and the Berkshires, and it was a fabulous ostrich egg that returned as our prized purchase. We found it at a Saturday market in Rhinebeck, and after much deliberation, decided to bring it home with us. We kept it in a cooler bag at my feet for the entire drive, and replenished the ice at every stop. One ostrich egg is the equivalent of 24 chicken eggs, a massive frittata, but my intention was never to consume the egg. It was the shell I wanted, drained of its contents, and displayed in a beautiful ceramic bowl. One drill, several straws, and many squeals later, the egg was clean. Trust me, your appetite for an omelette disappears when you see that much yolk ooze out of an egg. It’s a family jewel now. I admire it everyday.

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