eggs, eggs, eggs

It was, even way back then, a quiet time for me and I loved it.  I'd lie on the floor propped up on my elbows, reading the Sunday comics.  Wishing I could stay there all morning, I knew I had only until I heard the whirl of the blender. 

Before getting dressed in his crisp, (no starch) button down shirt, my dad would be in the kitchen in an undershirt, making milkshakes.  There was always a tiny piece of tissue paper stuck to his face where he'd nicked himself shaving.  Our kitchen smelled of Hershey's and Old Spice.   

The milkshakes were our Sunday-Morning-Off-To-Church breakfast.  Milk, chocolate syrup, and one raw egg, were frothed at high speed into a light, foamy drink.  That foam was the best part and as far as I was concerned, almost worth church. 

I said almost. 

My father scrambled eggs for us on mornings when he was ready but Mom was still primping.  He was actually good at it, stirring them into small curds like those in the container of cottage cheese I'd seen in my grandmother's refrigerator. 

He'd start to spoon them out onto our plates and my sister would shriek. So then I'd shriek too.  The buttery eggs were soft, almost runny; exactly as I'd like them now.  Daddy would laugh, plate his own portion, and continue to cook ours until they were firm and rubbery. 

In the summer, my dad would man the grill and in the winter he'd make spaghetti sauce.  Months in between were filled with sandwiches.  Those were what he really loved to eat.  There were buns packed full of North Carolina barbecue, deli meats piled inches high on sourdough, and hot, meatball subs. 

There was one unusual sandwich I remember.  A slice of bread spread with peanut butter and covered with slices of banana doesn't sound so strange but he'd slather the other half with mayo and arrange rings of pineapple on top before putting the halves together. 

Shriek! 

At eighty-eight, my dad still read the comics every Sunday.  We'd laugh over PEANUTS.  In his last year, when he could no longer handle mammoth sandwiches, I'd often make my father egg salad.  I learned not to get fancy with it but to make it for him just as he made eggs for me.

Egg Salad

6 eggs, hard-boiled, peeled and chopped fine

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 teaspoons champagne vinegar

several grinds of black pepper

several fresh tarragon leaves, torn

Mix all of the ingredients together. 

Refrigerate but allow the egg salad to warm up a bit
before serving.

Egg Salad for Daddy

6 eggs, hard-boiled, peeled and chopped fine

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 teaspoons champagne vinegar

several grinds of black pepper

several fresh tarragon leaves, torn

Mix all of the ingredients together.

Refrigerate but allow the egg salad to warm up a bit
before serving.