I was making myself some scrambled eggs and toast this morning, and as I was making the eggs, I thought about the time that I was at my sister’s house and she told me I was doing them wrong.
See, my mother taught me that you crack your eggs and you put in some milk to help make them creamy.
My sister, who had taken a cooking class, told me that you shouldn’t have to put milk in the eggs, that if you cook them differently, they will be creamy enough, if not even better than my own eggs.
She then proceeded to make me some scrambled eggs. If I recall correctly (and I’m sure she’ll tell me if I’m wrong), the idea is that you need to cook them very slowly, much more slowly than I probably cook them. I think the whole process also involved her really expensive stainless steel cookware.
They tasted exactly the same to me.
I think about this every single time I make scrambled eggs, and it makes me smile every time, too.
She and I didn’t always get along when we were growing up, but now that we are adults, she is one of my best friends. I wish she lived closer so that I could spoil her kids more, and argue over things like how to make scrambled eggs.