All I’ve Eaten for the Past 10 Days Are Eggs (Mostly)

Over the past 10 days, I have eaten a lot of scrambled eggs. I have eaten them every day, two to three eggs per scramble. Sometimes with bread, often just eggs. You see, I had a lot of eggs to get through.

But let me back up: About two weeks ago, I left Brooklyn with my kitten Ramona, some hiking boots, and whatever plaid things I owned. I was headed to Vermont, where my brother lives with his brood and where, importantly, my parents recently bought a classic red farmhouse that was sitting empty. I wanted to get out of Brooklyn, where simple things like doing the laundry or taking the elevator caused me to have tiny anxiety attacks.

It was a decision I didn’t make lightly. Even though I had been careful and hadn’t made any unnecessary outings in weeks, I was worried that I could have been exposed to COVID-19 and that leaving might mean endangering people outside New York unnecessarily. Ultimately there were two things that made me pack up my tiny white Fiat and go: First, my parents were sending me increasingly panicked emails. The latest emails were red, bolded, and all caps. Second, a friend of a friend was trapped in New York and couldn’t get home to Dallas. She was couch-surfing, on the phone with the airline daily, and increasingly concerned that she would not be able to get back to Texas any time soon. By leaving, I was giving her a safe place to ride out the pandemic.

It was not the best trip. Ramona insisted on sitting on my lap the entire time. And she cried. Oh, she cried. I did not know kittens could cry in so many different ways. Still, we made it. I promptly unpacked my car and investigated the kitchen.

The refrigerator was well-stocked with beer and wine and condiments and eggs. This was pretty much exactly what I suspected. Most of the time, this is what my refrigerator looks like, too. Like my mom, I tend to go grocery shopping frequently, buying what I need when I need it. Which means the refrigerator is often quite bare.

We’re obviously in a different situation right now, and I knew I wanted to self-quarantine for two full weeks before going to the grocery store. So I was feeling a bit panicky, especially because the food items I packed included, wait for it, condiments and eggs. Yes, I am my mother’s daughter.

And yet, it turns out, a single person on her own (well, with a cat) does not require a lot of food. I would not starve, not even close. Though I would eat a lot of eggs.

As I am nearing the end of my two weeks in complete isolation, I am looking forward to seeing my brother and my sister-in-law and my nephews in real life, though, of course, at a socially responsible distance. I am also really looking forward to vegetables and anything that doesn’t start with an e and end in a g.

But my 30 eggs (yup, 30) and I have had a good run. And I’ve discovered that my platonic ideal of scrambled eggs goes something like this: Crack three eggs into a bowl. Add a splash of half-and-half, a generous pinch of Maldon sea salt, and a lot of black pepper. Heat a pan over medium heat, add some butter, pour in the eggs and let them settle for a few seconds. Use a wooden spoon to gently fold the eggs until they are cooked, but still a little bit glossy. Transfer to plate and eat, standing up, while Ramona investigates the dirty egg bowl.