EGGS! Glorious Eggs!

You would have to be living under a rock not to know about the HUGE egg recall going on right now.  Of course, not all eggs are tainted; just the ones that came from these two particular farms, which rumor has it, are among the worst of these types of operations.

What’s funny, to me, is how the local eggs at all my favorite haunts are suddenly a hot commodity.  I went to Kimberton Whole Foods yesterday, and they were cleaned out.  (Kimberton Whole Foods sells pastured eggs from a local farm.)  As annoying as this was for me, I’m glad people are catching on that there IS a difference between eggs produced in over crowded factory farms and eggs produced by happy chickens raised freely on grass.

In a way, it’s downright funny.  I mean, it takes 1000 people getting sick for people to wake up and realize that maybe raising thousands of chickens in their own DUNG, and in such tight living quarters that they can’t even MOVE, might not be such a good idea???

Of course, when all this blows over, most people will go back to buying the cheap grocery store eggs.  And I get it.  I DO.  Price and the convenience have a way of evening out the playing field. I just wish it weren’t an either/or proposition.  It wasn’t always this way, you know.

Since I couldn’t get farm fresh eggs from my usual provider, I got on the phone and called my new friend at Pikeland Pastured Poultry.  (I almost hesitate to give away my source.)  I lucked out and she had 2 dozen eggs she could spare.

She raises hens that lay these gorgeous “easter eggs” — isn’t that awesome?  The shells are this pale blueish color (and some are green.)  No two are exactly alike, just as nature intended.  (And I always thought the colorful Easter eggs we decorate in the springtime were a figment of someone’s active imagination.)

This morning, when I was making some fried eggs, my son picked one up and said, “Mom, why is it so pointy?”  I explained that when hens are raised naturally, each egg is a little bit different.  To which he replied with his typical 10-year-old nonchalance, “Oh cool.”  And then he went back to his video games or whatever it is that 10-year-old boys do to occupy themselves during the dog days of summer.

Meanwhile, I cracked open a few crisp, hard shells to reveal bright, orangey-yellow egg yolks and watched them sizzle merrily with their egg white companions in the butter-lined frying pan.  Sometimes it’s the simplest things that produce the most joy.