I have a confession to make. It’s been one of those little parts of me that I’ve had to carry around, only revealing it to a select few people who need to know, usually around that first morning when they try to make me breakfast.
I don’t like eggs.
Fried, Scrambled, Poached, said with a Benediction – I was just never a fan of eggs. I never order a “Full English” anywhere, be they pricey hotels or greasy spoons, because I don’t want all that one has to offer (I also hate Baked Beans but I consider that more normal because I'm not 5.)
Confessing to my distaste of this British cuisine staple often, if not always, leads to the same incredulous reaction. “You don’t like eggs? You what?”
I stand firm. I don’t like the taste. I don’t. Eggs taste like they smell and they smell...eggy.
But now I have chickens. Chickens are fascinating. They are just a wonderful addition to your lives and I can spend hours watching their behaviour. It doesn’t bother us whether the chickens prolifically lay eggs as we don’t have need for a great deal of them. Gladys is an elder stateswoman now and has retired herself from the fussy business of squeezing out human food. Yet, inevitably, our Doris Morris does lay eggs. We now have eggs in the kitchen fresh from the coop and so it seemed prudent to give eggs another go.
And now I like eggs; well, Doris’ eggs at least...
Now they are regularly part of my breakfast, especially scrambled with some chorizo or poached into a Shakshouka
The fact is our chickens produce delicious eggs. They don’t smell eggy. The yolks are as yellow as a cat’s eye, misshapen and imperfect. Scrambled they create a different fluffier texture. On the revelation that I may now enjoy eggs we did buy supermarket varieties when we were low – the most expensive and apparently free range, organic and super-powered variety as well – and they aren’t nice. Their yolks are dull, their shapes are perfect and their texture is chewy; never mind the taste. They are as I remember eggs.
It may not be a revelation to some but to me it was confirmation of a point I would have previously been sceptical about. Chickens living a happier life, roaming the garden, digging up the plants for sweet juicy worms, coming to the back door for Hob Nobs and laying eggs whenever they feel like it, produce a better shelled product. And through that I’ve found eggs that I like.
So now I do like eggs – I just like a very specific and quality egg
It might be obvious where this praise of the ability of Doris Morris is leading. Some people genuinely only like a certain type of beer. Some people pine for that gassy sweetcorn juice produced by many large lager producers. Some people do struggle with that school gravy toastiness that traditional best bitters provide. Some people genuinely garner extra refreshment from the lime cordial addition in any beverage. Some people really don’t like the taste of Citra.
But it can be said that people who only like modern beers are genuinely impressed by the quality of product.
Continued evangelism of what we deem to be superior beer and criticism of those that don’t bow to our superiority has led some to forget the tastes and preferences of others. Many have found in Craft Beer flavours that suit their palates. Many found in Smoothflow Bitter a taste that will satiate them. Some haven’t discovered something they like yet.
I’ve been vocally critical of new modern beer drinkers who are deemed to be hopping on the bandwagon whilst beer is cool; those without a history or journey with beer. I’ve been known to state that you can’t talk beer with me until you’ve drank a few milds and trad-bitters – and furthermore appreciated them.
Yet this is nonsense and I should know better. Heck, I love coffee but I didn’t until my mid-20s. The reason for that being that I’d only previously been subjected to Kenco and Mellow Birds. I thought that was coffee. I could say with conviction that I hated coffee. But I don’t – I love coffee. I still hate the taste of Kenco and Mellow Birds though.
The fact that it took thirty years for me to find a very specific egg I enjoy will hopefully remind myself not too proselytise too aggressively. Not everybody that appears stubborn is being so. Some just haven’t tasted Doris’ eggs yet.
This piece was partly influenced by this post from Boak and Bailey about the Craftification of everything, as it made me think about my desire to buy better products
This is a picture of Lionel - cock of our roost and local loud mouth.