ON MAKING SCRAMBLED EGGS

Okay. Scrambled eggs, you say . . . who can't make scrambled eggs?  I had had a bad cold (sore throat, cough) for several days (probably fever, but I refused to admit it), and felt lousy, so I asked my husband to make breakfast.  That would be a first for him.  What do you feel like eating, he asked.  Nothing, I said, feeling grumpy.  No, that's not true.  Could you make me some scrambled eggs?  They're quick and easy and delicious.  Here's how you do it . . . No, stop! he said.  I'll only make them if you come down to the kitchen and tell me how to make them.  Do I have to? I queried, but I already knew the answer.

So down the stairs I hobbled (my legs weren't sick, but I had been in bed for too long) and plopped myself into a kitchen chair.  Okay.  Take out the eggs.  He did.  But how do I break them? he asked.  Just take two eggs and hit the sides together; one will break and one won't.  How do you know that? he asked.  Your mother taught me, I answered.

So he took down one of my favorite orange mixing bowls, and cracked 4 eggs for the first time in his life.  He did it perfectly.  I wonder why only one breaks and the other doesn't, he queried.  You're the scientist, I answered.  You went to Harvard.  You figure it out, and figure it out before we play the Armenian egg game at Easter, because the same thing happens then!

Now what, he asked.  Now beat the eggs with that wire whip.  Okay.

Now pour a tablespoon or so of olive oil into that copper bottomed omelet pan over there and heat it until the olive oil just starts sizzling.  Like this? he asked. Yes.

Okay, now pour in the eggs and when they settle, start stirring them.  With what? he asked.  He turned around and grabbed the largest metal spoon he could find from my container of kitchen tools (almost the size of a small garden trowel).  This should do, he said.

And with a few stirs, and a few furtive adjustments of the flame, and  about a minute more,  the eggs were done.  And I have to admit, they were the most delicious scrambled eggs I've ever eaten.

That's because of the spoon I used to stir them with, he said.  Or was it because he had made breakfast for me for the first time in our lives together.  Or was it because my husband had gone to Whole Foods early that morning and bought Grade A Fresh Large Brown Eggs, Cage free, raised naturally, raised without antibiotics, vegetarian fed with no animal by-products. . .