Morning Becomes Eggcellent
While on a baking jag a few weeks ago, I ran out of Diana's eggs and had to buy a dozen from the supermarket for everyday use. It had been a chunk of time since I'd tasted a corporate egg and was absolutely astounded by how flavorless they were. I made myself a fried egg sandwich, bit into it, and tasted no egg at all. The texture was tough and foreign and the yolk that ran out was a pale, pathetic yellow (not the robust orange to which I'd grown accustomed.) It was disappointing, but not at all surprising. We've been force-fed a factory product for so long that we, as a culture, don't even know what eggs are supposed to taste like. That's tragic, and I won't stand for it. So even if you aren't lucky enough to work with a free-range farmer, make it a point to go to Honest Weight, or a farmer's market, and try a local egg. You're gonna die, I promise, and you, like me, will never want to go back.
P.S. Diana also tells me all sorts of cute stories about the birds, my favorite being how they are free to fly out of their enclosure at any time, which they do. They haven't yet wrapped their minds around flying back in, though, and always queue up in an orderly fashion at the gate, waiting to be let in. They could easily escape, but choose to head home. I love that. Happy chickens equal yummy eggs.