"Eggs"

Most Americans enjoy eggs for breakfast. At one point in my life eggs were considered bad for you, then they became good for you. Either way, eggs are a main source of protein in my diet as a diabetic. So you could imagine my joy when we arrived in Paris that the first thing we were offered by my sister-in-law was eggs, over easy. I prefer over easy because the whites are not usually runny, and at worst the yolk is a bit done or even broken. The broken part I'm not all that eggcited about, but eggs in general are a great way to begin the day.

Every weekend, when my siblings arose from the night's sleep, Jeannine would ask Rob, what do you want for breakfast. My brother's famous response is "Eggs". There is no inflection in his voice, the word is simply said in as monotonic voice possible. "Eggs" he continues to say. It struck me as an odd way of saying it until his explanation. At Liberty High School, where my two brothers and I attended for all of our high school education, we were required to take U.S. Government. By the time Rob went through school, eight years after I paved the way, Mr. Brown was teaching. I'm not sure if I remember Mr. Brown, but I do remember having a less than enthusiastic teacher, that was short with curly brown hair. It seemed to match Rob's description, but so much time has passed I'm not entirely sure. Mr. Brown had a way about him in class. In Rob's class, on the first day of school, Mr. Brown was taking roll call to see who was or was not present. Of course, Rob comes up first, or nearly first; I had to deal with Kevin Adkins - a real piece of work - until he dropped out in 10th grade. But shortly past Rob's name came Leslie Benedicts' name. Leslie and Rob were friends, and he tells me a nice girl. When Mr. Brown comes to Leslie's name, he says "Eggs" instead of Leslie's last name. In case some of you are lost, Eggs Benedict is a combination of poached eggs on top of Canadian bacon resting open face on an English muffin with Hollandaise sauce covering it. It's quite tasty, and something I commonly order if it's on a menu, but rarely make it myself. So that's where Rob's reference to "Eggs" originates.

But my eggs story does not stop here. While we were in Rennes, the first French hotel we stayed at was a Mercure. The Mercure was a decent place, clean, but not too big on amenities. It did however, offer breakfast - a full breakfast. Each country seems to have its own customs, and since this was our first encounter with French customs for breakfast in a hotel, I wasn't sure what to expect. As I have said before, we tend to rely on our experiences to define what to do, so I was applying American customs in France; not necessarily the smartest thing to do. On our way to breakfast we encountered a nice guy in the elevator, but I wasn't certain if he spoke any English. He sat at one table without being seated, so we figured we'd follow suit. Catch was, the only two seat table that was clean was next to him. So we sat anyways and were quickly greeted by a waiter offering us coffee or tea. So it seemed we were doing the right thing.

At breakfast, there was an eggs and breakfast meats section, a cereal and baguette/croissant section, a cold cuts section, and a fruit and yogurt section. At our first breakfast, we were a bit late, 30 minutes before it closed, and the scrambled egg, served in a bowl, were gone. The breakfast meats were steaming in water and blanched - not all that appetizing - so we settled on baguettes and croissant, preserves, some fruit, and crepes. The crepes were awesome; they were thin but strong enough to spread some butter and preserves inside to make somewhat of a taco type sandwich that was delicious. I also tried the cold cuts, and they were terrible. The sliced salami had almost no taste but meat and fat without a smoked flavor at all. And the turkey and ham cuts were tasteless. I learned early that the French don't do sandwiches well with cold cuts; besides I never saw a delicatessen to that point in Paris. But I wanted some eggs. I noticed there was a basket of eggs on the counter in the egg station. So, I figured they were hard boiled, but at least I'd have some eggs. I went over to the basket, grabbed two, and brought them to our table. As I began to open one of these eggs, the guy next to me becomes so startled, he says to me, "Sir, stop. You need to cook it!" He was obviously worried that he was in line for an egg bath. He scared me so much I almost instinctively tossed the egg. So, my assumption was wrong, it was raw. Turns out there was a boiler near the eggs that I had not noticed. So, I went back to the boiler, put two in and waited for what I thought was long enough for hard boiled eggs; 10 minutes of boiling. I ended up with soft boiled eggs that were more tasty than what I can find in the US. Interesting side note to me was that all the eggs we ever saw in France were brown and had thick shells, which is very different from the thin white shells in the US.

In a land where you don't speak the language, it can be difficult at times to determine how to prepare breakfast; a lesson I learned quickly. And if you see someone eating what appears to be a sandwich on a baguette, be very careful. The cold cuts they use are nasty.