Surely those in whose creed
God is edible may call a fine 
Omelette a Christian deed.
-W. H. Auden

I don’t know if it was a fine omelette or even a Christian one, but it was undoubtedly tasty. Usually I don’t attempt omelettes, being more of a frittata gal. I’m not particularly dexterous at flipping them, and my real downfall is that I stuff them so full of yummy things that they burst. Things fall apart! The center cannot hold!

Well, Auden was rather fond of Yeats, was he not?

For some reason I became ambitious last night. I’ve got a huge nonstick pan and plenty of butter, and a supply of eggs from terribly happy chickens who inhabit a darling eggmobile in the form of a pithed-out school bus. It’s as orange as the glorious yolks of the eggs, but I fear the birds are soon to become quiescent, as free ranging hens do during the winter, once the days shorten. Eggs are a seasonal treat for us, so it was time to indulge.

I wanted a massive omelette for two, so I used six eggs and beat them well with a little water, then poured them into the pan, which was liberally anointed with two tablespoons of French butter (Isigny!). I cooked the eggs at a low temperature, forcing myself to be patient, and lifted the edges of the bright pancake as they firmed up, allowing the loose egg to flow beneath.

Finally the egg was mostly cooked, puffy around the edges, but still moist on top. Cautiously, I added some cooked greens, slices of tender tiny potatoes, and chunks of Gardein chicken, plus a blend of cheeses featuring Red Leicester. Then it was time to fold the omelette, which flirtatiously left a quarter of its filling exposed. The creamy result surpassed all my expectations and drew appreciative noises from the Long Suffering Husband. So I’m looking forward to more omelettes this Fall, at least until the happy hens finish their laying.

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