Growing up, my mother used to take my sister and myself to the beach for picnics. We would spend the day at Will Rodgers State Beach in Santa Monica. My mother would sit on one blanket talking with a friend. My sister, Barbara, and I would dig holes in the sand and build our version of "castles" by filling plastic buckets with wet sand and turning them over quickly.
For lunch my mother always made our favorites. Fried chicken, hard boiled eggs and egg salad sandwiches. I guess it must be a truth of the human experience that what we eat as children is burned deeply into our psyches. Sometimes negatively (I won't go near calf's liver, which my mom used to serve on a regular basis) but mostly positively.
More often than not, comfort food means food we ate as a child that made us feel all taken care of. I enjoy eggs so many ways. Hardboiled, sliced and topped with anchovies or 1000 island dressing.
Deviled with a filling of anchovies, parsley and capers.
Egg salad flavored with bacon, charred corn kernels and parsley. Coddled in Caesar salad dressing richly flavored with anchovies and Tabasco sauce. One egg omelets. Egg white cookies with hazelnuts and orange glaze.
This weekend a friend shared one of her favorite eggs. She gave me a half dozen Apricot Lane Farms eggs she picked up at Farm Shop in Brentwood. Wildly popular, the eggs sell out quickly.
What makes farm fresh eggs so special is the bright yellow yolk. Visually impressive, the yolk is sweet, thick and custardy. Lily Farms eggs, sold at the Santa Monica Farmers Market (Wednesday and Saturday) and at the Palisades Sunday market, have a similar quality.
This morning I had one of the Apricot Lane eggs for breakfast.
I think one of the best ways to enjoy quality eggs is to make a fried egg. Personally I like over-easy eggs, but sunny side up would be good too. I fried the egg in a pat of sweet butter in a non-stick pan and served it on a slice of toasted Orowheat Oatnut Bread with Bonne Maman Strawberry Preserves and Pulgra unsalted butter.
Simple. Easy. Delicious. The pictures tell the story.
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