Sunny Side Up: Scrambled over easy

I’m an unabashed egg lover. I enjoy them fried, scrambled, hard boiled, soft boiled, poached (only ones not illegally acquired), and “deviled.” I especially love my famous (infamous?) potato salad. The secret ingredient is hundreds of eggs.

Instead of “sunny side up,” I prefer my fried eggs “over easy.” My dad, who raised chickens for years, enjoyed eating fried eggs, too.

My old school father prepared them in a lot of fat, such as bacon grease, lard, or vegetable shortening. Using a pancake turner, he splashed that hot liquid onto the eggs to create a thin membrane over the top of the yolks.

In later years, I learned it was a lot easier—and healthier—to simply flip the eggs over to put a film on the yolks. Even today, the challenge is not to break the yolk, unintentionally transforming a fried egg into a scrambled egg or an unintended “flat egg” for an egg sandwich.

Eggs have a lot of commendable characteristics: They’re low in calories, they’re a great source of protein, and they’re brimming with vitamins. However, I remember when eggs were vilified as unhealthy, “high cholesterol criminals,” contributing to heart attacks and strokes.

The low-fat egg white (aka “albumen”) has always been viewed as “good,” but medical researchers and doctors branded the yolk as “bad.” It was viewed as sort of a “cholesterol bomb” ready to explode at any time.

Over the years, eggs gradually became rehabilitated and are now viewed as respectable members of the food chain. This turnabout was the result of additional scientific studies regarding the connection between cholesterol and heart disease. Justice prevailed and eggs have finally been redeemed.

Just last week, I heard a TV news commentator report that, on average, each American consumes 280 eggs annually. (I’m probably closer to 380.)

When devouring eggs, it’s best to avoid white bread slathered with butter, accompanied by pounds of pork sausage and bacon. (Duh?)

I admit I love egg yolks and simply tolerate egg whites. (I do love meringue.) Whenever I put sliced, hardboiled eggs on our salads, I always put a lot of the white slices on my husband’s. (I feel guilty for 1.2 seconds.)

My cousin, “Mrs. P,” was once a diehard “eggaholic.” Growing up, she ate an egg for breakfast every day. She would also fry an egg at night, using some of the bacon grease her mother kept in a cup in the kitchen.

“I couldn’t go to bed at night without eating a fried egg,” she confessed.

Although Mrs. P no longer eats breakfast, she still indulges her egg-loving heart by consuming one hardboiled egg at suppertime, plus she’ll periodically eat scrambled eggs for supper.

My affinity for eggs has led me to appreciate egg-related words:

I got excellent grades in college, but I wasn’t an egghead. One Halloween, I TP-ed my brother’s house, but I never egged it. After I addressed my high school teacher, “Mr. Cooper” as “Mrs. Cooper,” I had egg on my face. Thankfully, I’ve never been egged on to wrestle an alligator.

I really, truly, and frankly hope people think of me as a good egg.