what the shell?


I’ve been making pancakes for Maggie on a regular basis for months. The packaged gluten-free mix in the store makes ‘cakes that are good. Almost as good as the ones made from buckwheat that you personally grind into flour in the back yard, mix with freshly squeezed milk from an organic virgin goat, and eggs from free-range, naturally-cloned chickens; chickens who were raised on fire-roasted corn, high altitude glacier water from the Alps, and earthworms fresh from the compost bin. Yes, the packaged mix is that good.

But tonight Maggie said the pancakes were a little crunchy. They are usually a little crunchy, she said, but tonight they were too crunchy. I took them back and tried ’em. Dang if there wasn’t a tiny piece of eggshell in almost every bite. For months I’ve been busting those chicken ovoids over the mixing bowl and dumping shell pieces in there. She never told me. How embarrassing.

I never claimed to be much of a cook, but now I must get down to basics and learn how to break an egg. I went to Wikihow and looked this up:

“NEVER crack eggs directly into the bowl that you are building your recipe in. Always crack eggs into a separate bowl first just in case you need to remove any bits of shell before transferring the eggs to the bowl you are working in.” Whoops.

Wikihow also says that when you start, “Grasp the egg in your dominant hand.” That’s a problem already. Neither of my hands dominate. Both are pacifists. My left one likes to write, my right one likes to do sports. It’s a good trade off. They both take turns with computer mousing, though my left likes it better. If one hand gets a little uppity, I slap it with the other one. We call that peace through ambidexterity.


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