Basted eggs.
Always a promising way to start an adventure; getting thrown out of a bar at
last call and having Richard say "Let's get some
basted eggs". Next thing you know, we're at
Denny's.
Just in case you're not sure what a
basted egg is, don't feel alone. Nobody really knows for sure. If you ask a dozen
short order cooks you'll get a dozen different interpretations. The only constant is that it is an
egg that is somehow cooked. Currently, the
dishwasher at my Denny's is the only one who has a definate idea of what "basted egg" really means; I think it somehow involves
frying & steaming simultaniously.
Back to last night. I was a man on a mission; I knew, walking in the door, that I was going to make a serious order - something not on the menu, something defnately not "good" for me.
and for the the
coup de grace
- two basted eggs, face-to-face with two more strips of bacon sandwitched between them.
Somewhere along the lines the words "tell the cook that, if he does this right, there's an extra five bucks in it for him". I take my
basted eggs seriously and I don't want some cook making a mess of them.
I won't go too far into the details of consumption; it was a big
decadent meal. There's something
erotic about dipping fried chicken into liquid egg yolks. Dipping that combination into the gravy just pushed the drunken food eating to another dimension.
Nine hours later and I still feel well fed.