The Egg Bonanza Dilemma

Two egg bonanza dilemmas actually.

We have a somewhat deranged chicken called Steve, named after the star of The Great Escape (Donald Pleasence - she's that strange). She has no motorbike that searches of the chicken hutch have yet revealed anyway, and since we took away the pot-bellied stove that hid their tunnel entrance that route has not been a problem, but Steve escapes from their compound on an almost daily basis. They have a nice sturdy Omlet run for night-time security, and during the day roam inside another Omlet product, a great big net/fence that gives them room to wander, peck, and take time out from their hectic lifestyles. We have pegged the net carefully, so figure she launches from the roof of the hutch to get over the wire, as it were. Wasn't there an episode of Colditz about building a glider in the castle? I knew letting them have the box-set was mistaken.

Yesterday when searching for her in the garden I discovered she had made a nest of sorts under bags of wood in a little lean-to behind our shed. When I moved the bags I found nine eggs. Dillemma one: how to tell they are fresh? The old trick of putting them one by one in a glass of cold water is neat and simple: if they remain horizontal they're fresh. If they tip up a bit - not so fresh. Stand upright - downright stale. Easy peasy squeezy lemons.

Six turned out to be fresh, three stale - we have chickens so our eggs will be fresh and lovely, so very unpeasantly I threw out the three past their best.

Now comes the second dilemma: how best to use a sudden eggy glut? My immediate thought was scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow, but as the Dear Leader is taking a train before six even her most devoted underling (me) is unwilling to cook them at five. Next thought was a big Spanish omelette tonight, something that appeals for getting them used rapidly and as it's a fine dish. SC is a big fan of egg mayonnaise, rather perversely given he is not keen on boiled eggs and on other foods shuns mayo. Another Spanish dish, onions, peppers, beans and garlic with halved boiled eggs on top (or for the bold eggs broken into hollows in the top then cooked in the oven) also appeals. Other suggestions gratefully received.

ps I'm not sponsored by Omlet. Though if they'd like to I'd not say no.

Money for Nothing and Your Chick Peas for Free

Except we don't grow chick peas. No reason to spoil a good title for that though (it's a Dire Straits line).

This morning I started a project that will last a year, recording expenditure on growing food and the value of food grown. It seemed logical to start when I put in our annual seed order via our allotment association. We get 50 per cent discount from King's Seeds, but the food ones still cost just over £25.

Any editors out there wanting an article based on this, please get in touch!

That was done on Friday. On Sunday we spent two hours tidying up the plot, weeding and removing plants that are past it. But we still harvested a huge amount: 2 x giant parsnips; 2 turnips; 3 beetroot; a sugar-loaf chicory; about a dozen courgettes and patty pans; loads of runner and French beans; some apples; parsley; kale; a large kohl rabi. Enough for the veg for at least three days, though they'll be topped up with odd things from the garden - a few ripe tomatoes suddenly appeared this morning, and we have lots of small peppers left on one plant.

Also on Friday I did my regular run to the chicken man for a sack of layers' pellets and another of mixed seed to keep our two birds happy for five or six months, an outlay of £16.50. They provide on average 1.33 eggs per day through the year, which in Sainsbury's (medium sized organic eggs) are £1.90 for 6. So we get £150+ of eggs for £40 of feed and maybe £15 of bedding etc. A profit margin that I would have killed for in my industrial marketing days.

I was reminded of how good our eggs were when I bought a tray of 36 small ones for £1.50 from the chicken man (I wanted to do some baking and to go large on scrambled eggs at the weekend). His birds are kept in big sheds, free to run about but not as far as I can see to get out. The yolks are an insipid beigey-yellow. Our pair, frequently let out to eat grass, insect eggs, worms, dandelions, wood-lice, the occasional frog if we are not quick to intervene, and even once the decapitated body of a mouse left by the cat, give eggs with bright yellow to orange yolks. Even when we can't supervise them outside (we have foxes over the stream from us) they eat our leftover starches, veg peelings, and any fruit that has gone over. The chicken version of the good life/Good Life, as we on a small and partial scale enjoy the human equivalent.

Something on Toast

One of my favourite pieces of food criticism was an off-the-cuff remark by Alan Bennett. It is said that years ago when he saw the fancy salads and international cuisine in the BBC canteen he remarked in exasperation: "You don't want that, you want something on toast."

As with his plays there are layers of thought behind simple words. Simplicity is good; toast is comforting and provides a carb boost (though he would never stoop so low as to use the non-word carb); and there is something very British about 'something on toast.' Sardines, beans, egg, cheese...

My wife and I - before we in contemporary parlance 'hooked up' - both spent three months in what was then the USSR. She was in provincial Voronezh where food was scarce and facilities limited: the thing she still talks about craving was toast - bread, generally the black bread beloved of the Russians, was available if you looked, but no means of toasting it. She claims that dreams of toast haunted her sleep.

This morning, our youngest hen having kicked in at last with an egg, we celebrated the fact with scrambled eggs. A dash of milk, a lump of butter, and five eggs whisked together in the pan. I won't do them now in the microwave, as these invariably end up as a solid mass. So creamy scrambled eggs on wholemeal toast, and all is right with the world for a few minutes of satiety. It does not take much. Just something on toast.