Onion Fried Eggs

I met David Daniel in 1982 on the streets of Baltimore. What were any of us doing at the time? That day involved a boat, an ex-husband, and a faceless woman we were to hear stories about all day, over many tacks to starboard and bottles of Heineken. A day spent on the Chesapeake Bay, a day that was disposable back then because we were young and sure there were so many in front of us. Like the woman, her stories, the beer.

I haven’t seen David since, though my current husband has had the pleasure of his acquaintance on the southern coast of Vermont—The Riviera of MFA programs– and has followed David’s Face Book posts, one of which I include here:

2014-08-04 13.35.25For those of you interested in egg cookery, here’s something you might want to try–I’m calling them, for now, onion fried eggs, but in french: sautee a couple tablespoons of minced onions in oil or butter in a 8 inch omelette pan or whatever. Crack two or three eggs directly onto the now-browned onions, turn when you like and grate cheddar or parmesan so that some of the cheese is also on the pan to create a little crisp. Cover with foil for a minute to melt the cheese that’s on the eggs. Et voila! Even sophisticated people love them!

2014-08-04 13.36.07Back when, the longer it took to prepare a meal, the longer I had to drink. Now, I open my meals too often, rather than cook them, because my husband, once a profound overeater, can no longer eat much of anything. Not sure about my ex. I know he grows grapes on a small farm in Italy. David and I have both apparently become recipe hounds. Leave it to David to poke fun at the suburban myths of Haut Cuisine. I haven’t told him that I’m re-posting his post, because secretly, I want him to come after me.

2014-08-04 13.40.24-2We tried the recipe when we were fighting the hordes of an East Coast beach vacation. But you would have to be pretty hung over to enjoy it, as I was, struck down by oyster shooters the night before. Ah middle age! Will we never grow up? Gleefully, not.

Tomorrow, I plan to visit The Block, or what’s left of it. Maybe I’ll run into Her, or someone like Her, willing to grant me anything, for a good fried egg.

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