"What do you want to eat?"
"I don't know...what do you feel like eating?"
"I dunno...what do we have?"
James and I have been on this sad dinner hamster wheel lately, which includes having some version of this conversation on a near-nightly basis. I absolutely dread it every time. Typically, after some rummaging over the cabinets and through the fridge, we'll concoct a comical medley of a meal by heating up some hard sandwich bread or throwing in some heated leftovers.
It's been a busy season for us these days, especially as I approach these last months in my classroom and wrap my head around what might be next. And neither of us have had the energy nor the wherewithal to think ahead to our next meal.
My husband isn't one usually complain; quite the opposite. "Babe, I love freezer nuggets!" he'll exclaim and happily dig into his meal. But there's always a twinge of guilt that I couldn't rub a few more brain cells together to plan and create a meal that involves more than throwing some ice-encrusted processed goods into a toaster oven and hoping for the best.
But not today.
I've discovered a new appreciation for the peppery kick of arugula and I threw a handful into a shallow bowl, along with some shaved parmesan and light Italian dressing (premade, of course. Did you really think I'd go from freezer foods to my own dressings already?). The bread was another easy part since I'm well practiced in the art of pressing oven buttons. The egg, however, was the most daunting part. What secret witchcraft were these chefs wielding that allowed their eggs to come out with crispy bottoms and runny tops from the same pan?!
A quick dive into Google unveiled the dual-handed trick - oil and a lid.
First, douse the pan in oil. I know, I know what your doctor says. She says the same things to me too. But trust me. A few glugging tablespoons in a hot pan will crisp up those whites until they're almost cracker-like in texture. Think eggy-croutons. After sprinkling some salt, throw the lid on and watch three or four TikTok videos. Seriously. Because that's what I did, and when I came back to the pan, I was delighted to not only see that a promising halo of brown crisp around the edges, but a still-gooey sheen of yellow yolk sitting on its perfectly cooked egg white throne.
It was the simplest of meals, and I doubt it'd win any prizes anywhere, but when I watched my nugget-fed husband happily stabbing runny yolks with toast points and forking actual food into his mouth, it felt like I'd finally escaped the drudgery of boring meal talk.
That is, until James had his last bite, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and asked, "So...what's for dinner tomorrow?"
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