Recipe 40: Dad’s Omelettes

May 2, 2011

Source: Dad

When I walked into my parent’s house this morning, the first thing my father said to me was:

Are you ready to learn how to make omelettes from the omelette expert?

And I replied:

No, but I am ready for your humility to kick in.

I don’t know when the cockiness about the omelette making started, but I do know where the omelettes started. The omelettes started with Conrad.

Mom and Dad went to Jamaica to celebrate their wedding anniversary a few years ago. They sat in the sun, went on walks, read books and watched Conrad. Conrad made them omelettes in the morning. I imagined him is this gruff, muscular, bearded, pirate like fellow. But then I wonder why they didn’t give him my phone number so I could marry him and live on his pirate ship. So I reimagined him as a parrot. Because that’s just funny. Parrots making omelettes. Silly birds.

Conrad flipped his omelettes, and when dad returned from Jamaica, he was going to be damned if he didn’t learn how to flip his omelettes. Dad wasn’t very good at it at first. Many of the omelettes wound up on the floor for a while. But now, its a science. He does it flawlessly. And today he was persistent that I learn to do the same.

Mom: You know, there’s nothing wrong with using a spatula to flip the omelettes. They will taste the same. I promise.

Mom wasn’t so pumped about the idea of me, the girl who can’t cook, trying to flip an omelette. She’s seen me do one to many stupid things in the kitchen, so I don’t blame her. But I was going to flip it anyway.

I watched Dad do it first. We mixed together the eggs and veggies in a small bowl and poured them into a sprayed frying pan. As the egg congealed, he used a spatula to drag the fried edges toward the middle, allowing for the liquid parts to fry. And then, when all was fried, he flipped it. The key was to lift the frying pan “straight up”.

I was super nervous the first time around. Mom was eating her omelette, and facing away from us, refusing to watch me try.

Mom: Please, just use a pot holder and don’t burn yourself.

Everything was fried. It was go time. Straight up.

I wish I had some funny failure story to add to the post, but I did it. I did it twice. Without problem or error or egg splattered hardwood floors. And both times I couldn’t help but yell: Hey-O! Which I guess will be my catch phrase for the blog.

Final comments at the breakfast table about the omelettes:

Dad: That’s a great omelette, Mal.

Me: Yea it is!

Mom: It could use salt.

On to the next one.







One Response to “Recipe 40: Dad’s Omelettes”

  1. Tara Says:

    I’m so confused. Omelettes that rent folded in half? Crazy Jamaicans!

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