Thinking about Food; and Scrambled Eggs

Contrary to popular belief among those who know me (a highly qualified use of “know”, since how well do we even “know” ourselves, much less our peers?), I do know (again, “know”!) a little bit about food. Not so much in its preparation, but surely, in its enjoyment.

Would that I didn’t; but as a man of the flesh, possessing a heightened consciousness and sensitivity to the pleasures from the physical senses (are there but five?), I’m ashamed to admit that earthly pleasures hold not a little sway over me — and food is one of these.

Food for me is a sentimental thing; a language, a window — touching without touching, talking without words. Beyond technical skill and finesse in its preparation, like music, much of the enjoyment also comes from the care and heart that is put into it, which is communicated to the person doing the eating. As the eyes reveal a person’s soul, food is likewise a portal, a direct window into a mind or a culture. I’m not making this up — you could look past a painting gaining no impression, or you connect with it, as in art. Should cooking be any different?

In any case, let me not waste the reader’s time by parting with a mere thought. Here’s a recipe even a lazy bone could try, magic ingredient in caps:
- scramble two or more eggs over low fire
- pinch of salt, tablespoon of butter
- 1 or 2 tablespoons of EVAPORATED MILK
- have tea and toast ready.