Plow is not new. But there are some spots in the city that warrant constant discussion well after opening day; Plow is one such place. In April 2010, Joel Bleskacek and Maxine Siu, ex-Oliveto folks, decided to take the plunge and open a small restaurant in their Potrero Hill neighborhood. It is a warm, bustling spot at the base of the hill with a handsome bar, a number of cozy tables and tons of natural light. The wait can be long on a Saturday or Sunday but the staff is upbeat and attentive and they do an amazing job of making everyone feel at home.

I visited Plow on a recent Saturday with a few friends. We dutifully put our names on the list, were told the wait would be an hour-and-a-half, and took a seat on one of the outdoor benches to catch up. When it seemed liked we were just at the hunger-breaking-point, our names were called and we headed inside to claim a table. The food at Plow is decidedly simple; most of the ingredients are sourced from local farms and it's the kind of menu that you curse at first because it makes deciding on just one dish incredibly difficult. From the French toast with poached pears and mascarpone to the lemon ricotta pancakes or cider-brined pork chop -- it's a very tough call. I say start with some Equator coffee and then leave the French toast and pancakes for one of Plow's remarkable egg dishes.

Soft Scrambled Eggs and Crispy Potatoes

Plow does eggs well. Really, really well. And after reading Ruth Reichl's piece in Gilt Taste on How to Make Better Scrambled Eggs, eggs have been on my mind lately. While I was truthfully shocked at the amount of butter Ruth Reichl describes (1 stick of butter/4 eggs), I have a hunch Plow's eggs follow suit. They are light and fluffy, the kind of scrambled eggs you know you just can't replicate at home.

Savory Bread Pudding with Kale and Leeks

The savory bread pudding has a little warning that it's only available "until it's gone." You know what that means: get there early to snag a piece because they do often sell out. And I can see why. Packed with kale and leeks and a touch of Gruyere, it's hearty but not in a cumbersome, soporific way. Instead, it's actually quite light and really celebrates the vegetables and cheese while avoiding a common mistake of adding too much salt or over-baking. We opted for crispy potatoes instead of the side salad that it's usually served with. Pleasantly salty and, true to their name, crispy as heck these are some of the best breakfast potatoes I've had in quite some time. There's nothing worse than waiting well over an hour in the San Francisco winter wind for a plate of soggy potatoes. That won't be the case here.

Eggs Benedict with Spinach and Mushrooms

And then we come to the ultimate in egg celebration: the Eggs Benedict with fennel pollen Hollandaise sauce. While the eggs are poached perfectly here, I did find the English Muffin to be a little spongy for my taste. But everything is thoughtfully done at Plow, from the finely chopped chives sprinkled on top of the eggs to the variety of mushrooms or the attentive coffee refills and warm service. And have I mentioned those crispy potatoes?

So in short, there are a lot of spots to get brunch in the city. There are the classics, like Brenda's, Foreign Cinema and Absinthe. And then quieter show-stoppers like 15 Romolo or Southern favorite Farmer Brown. But trust me when I tell you: if you're looking for some very special eggs in a very special atmosphere, Plow is where it's at.

Plow
1299 18th street
(between Mississippi St & Texas St)
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415) 821-7569
Hours: Tues-Fri 7am - 2pm; Sat-Sun 8am - 2pm

Eggs from Tara Firma Farms

Happy Easter! And where better to spend this egg-centric holiday than Petaluma, land of butter & eggs? This pretty Sonoma town is worth a drive anytime, especially now while the surrounding hills are green and the cows contented.

Start your Sunday with brunch at Della Fattoria Bakery and Cafe. If you shop at the Ferry Plaza or Marin County farmers' markets, you've probably ogled Della Fattoria's big brown loaves many a time as you try to choose that week's purchase: pumpkin-seed or polenta? Meyer lemon-rosemary (my favorite) or olive? A square Pullman loaf for slicing and toasting, or a crunchy-crusted epi to rip and dunk?

At the heart of Della Fattoria's operation is a farm and bakery, where their breads are baked in wood-fired ovens. The farm doubles as a site for outdoor, communal "ranch dinners"; there's also a small cottage available for rent by the week or by the night.

Easter brunch menu at Della Fattoria

In downtown Petaluma, Della Fattoria runs a bakery-cafe that serves breakfast and lunch 7 days a week, plus dinner on Fridays. The menu shifts a little with inspiration and the seasons, but farm eggs, local meats, and bakery products are always front and center.

Polenta, asparagus, and egg at Della Fattoria Bakery & Cafe

This Sunday, you'll find eggs bennie (eggs Benedict), of course, made with poached ranch eggs, ham, and spring asparagus under a cloak of hollandaise sauce over husky whole-grain toast. Creamy polenta comes topped 3 ways: with braised artichokes, with Italian-style meatballs, or with asparagus, a poached ranch egg, and some rosettes of proscuitto, a lovely, luxurious way to start the day. Bigger appetites might start with fruit salad bathed in brown sugar and champagne, followed by scalloped potatoes with eggs and black-pig bacon, biscuits in gravy with maple-pecan sausage and poached eggs, or a hot pressed ham-and-Gruyere sandwich.

The room is high-ceilinged with walls the color of terra cotta and two long communal tables in the center, plus five smaller tables against the walls. Bouquets of sweet peas and ranunculus add a bright splash of color to each table, where diners share newspapers while kids gnaw on house-baked bagels. At the back is a pastry counter filled with croissants, bear claws, cookies, and tarts, plus a wall of tempting breads.

Enjoy yourself, sip that perfect cappuccino, but don't linger too long; it's time to take a scenic five-mile drive out of town, along meandering, bumpy but beautiful I Street, past horses, cows, and California poppy-studded green hills to Tara Firma Farms. If you're a farmers'-market shopper, you've probably been handed a flyer advertising their pasture-raised meat CSA program and weekend farm tours. Every weekend, from 10am-3pm, owners Craig and Tara Smith do on-the-hour walks around their property, where they're raising pigs, beef cattle, and chickens for both meat and eggs. (There's also a small market garden, three very friendly pet goats, and Roland, the farm dog.)

Craig and Tara started the farm in 2009, raising about 40 head of pasture-raised cattle who move around the farm daily, grazing on three to five acres a day. (Craig still has his day job as the owner of a large long-term-care insurance company; Tara left her job at the same company and now does much of the day-to-day farm management.) They gather about 500 eggs a day from some 700 hens, all of whom spend their days out in the fields, scratching, grazing, pecking, and laying fertile eggs of all sizes and colors. Staunch proponents of the Joel Salatin method, they practice rotational grazing for all their animals. "Everything is always on the move," said Craig, noting that adopting this system made "a huge difference" in revitalizing what had been worn-out, heavily overgrazed land.

Chicken at Tara Firma Farms

After meeting Olivia the sow and her 12 adorable, two-week-old pink-and-black piglets, we walked up to one of the chicken tractors, a shed on wheels kitted out with nesting boxes and secure predator-proof roosts for nighttime. The chickens are busy earning their keep: every straw-lined nesting box we peered into held a clutch of three or four still-warm eggs. It's prime egg-laying time right now, said Craig, as the days get longer and warmer after winter's molting season.

Olivia the sow and her piglets

Pointing out the pond stocked with fish (catfish and large-mouthed bass, for catch-and-release fishing) and encouraging everyone to come back for a hike, Craig said, "We want all our members to feel like this is their farm. We really want to help people understand where their food comes from."

About 80% of the farm's production is sold through its CSA program, which offers both meat and veggie shares; members can pick up boxes at the farm or through one of its 12 drop points between Santa Rosa and San Francisco. After the tour, visitors can browse through the small farm store, where fresh eggs and a small area of produce is on display, featuring a mixture of farm vegetables and produce from County Line, a nearby organic farm. But those in the know head straight for the freezer, where the farm's beef, chicken, and pork are packaged for sale.

As for me, I'm happy to go home with a box of souffle-ready eggs, perfect alongside some Della Fattoria toast.

Della Fattoria (The Cafe)
Address: Map
141 Petaluma Boulevard North
Petaluma, CA
Phone: (707) 763-0161
Hours: Mon-Thu & Sat: 6am-3pm, Fri: 6am-9pm, Sun: 9am-3pm
Twitter: @DellaFattoria
Facebook: Della Fattoria

Tara Firma Farms
Address: Map
3796 I Street, Ext
Petaluma, CA 94952
Phone: (707) 765-1202
Twitter: @TaraFirmaFarms
Facebook: Tara Firma Farms

The holidays are such a busy time that breakfast can seem either too hectic to deal with or like an afterthought. In the hopes of creating a memorable morning meal you could easily be tempted to spend your morning chopping and stirring instead of enjoying your family. Or maybe the allure of that new Wii game is too strong, so you end up blowing off your planned meal and making scrambled eggs and toast instead. So is there a happy medium? After years of plotting and planning my family's morning Christmas feasts, and buying specialty ingredients for them, I think I've found one.

Egg strata is my new standard quick and painless meal for a decadently delicious holiday breakfast. After first making this dish a few years ago, I've made holiday strata a few other times with great results. I love that I can make this dish the night before, so the only thing I have to do on Christmas morning is stick it in the oven. I've also taken to using ingredients I already have. After all, why buy bacon when I have smoked sausage or holiday ham in the fridge? And do I really need grated smoked cheddar if I already have Gouda or Humboldt Fog from appetizers the night before? This means I don't have to shop and plan for yet another holiday meal.

But the best part is that this strata is everything a holiday breakfast should be: mixed with whole milk or half and half, the eggs turn out creamy and pillowy, while the addition of those holiday cheeses plus a little cream cheese or crème fraiche adds a gorgeous richness, sort of like a beautiful bow on an already lovely present.

There is no strict recipe for holiday strata. The rule is to simply use whatever your refrigerator contains that sounds good. So if you have Gouda and smoked sausage, use it. Or if the roasted artichoke hearts from the evening before are available, cut them up and toss them in with some chunks of Brie. Anything is fine as long as you like it.

Here are some general directions for making a holiday strata. I hope your breakfast, and day, are as stress-free as this dish.

Trouble-Free Holiday Breakfast Strata

The following is a set of guidelines for making your own holiday breakfast. The measurements are for individual servings, so just multiply by the number of people you’re serving. You can also bake this dish in one big casserole or baking dish, or split each serving up in separate dishes (which is what I like to do).

Ingredients:

1/2 - 3/4 cup chopped day old bread, croissants, bagels, or appetizer toasts
2 eggs
1/2 cup whole milk or half and half
1/4 cup of your favorite on-hand ingredients (such as cooked spinach and shallots; sausage and onions; tomatoes and bacon; lump crab meat ; holiday ham; chanterelles; or whatever sounds good)
1/3 cup cheese (use leftover appetizer cheese from a holiday party; Cotswold is one of my favorites, but Brie or Gouda are also great. If you don’t have any, use some cheddar or jack mixed with cream cheese)
1/8 cup crème fraiche or ricotta cheese (if you have some on hand)
1 Tbsp chopped herbs
Top with fresh or dried bread crumbs
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. Butter or oil your baking dishes.
2. Add in the chopped bread
3. Top with your favorite strata ingredients, cheese and herbs
4. In a separate bowl, beat eggs, milk or half and half, and salt and pepper
5. Pour egg mixture into baking dish. Let sit overnight, covered, in the refrigerator or for at least ten minutes before baking.
6. The next morning, preheat oven to 350 degrees while you unwrap presents.
7. Before popping the stratas in the oven, top each with bread crumbs
8. Bake for 20 minutes or until cooked through.

More than 500-million eggs have been recalled after outbreaks of salmonella nationwide. The head of the FDA says her agency needs more authority to prevent food borne illnesses. Forum discusses the weaknesses in food safety regulation and what should be done.

Host: Michael Krasny

Guests:

• Bill Marler, food safety attorney
• Dan Sumner, professor of agricultural and resource economics at UC Davis
• Lyndsey Layton, staff writer for the Washington Post
• William Hubbard, former associate commissioner for the FDA

Related Links:

• FDA: Recalls, Market Withdrawals, & Safety Alerts
• Civil Eats: Egg Gaps Illustrate Fractured Food Safety System by Helena Bottemiller
• The Atlantic: The Egg Industry's Full-Page Ad, Translated by Marion Nestle
• NYTimes: Heart of Iowa as Fault Line of Egg Recall by Monica Davey
• HuffPost: Tainted Meat/Rotten Eggs: What Does It Really Take to Make Food Safe? by Alison Rose Levy
• NPR: Salmonella Found In Chicken Feed At 2 Iowa Farms
• NPR: Tainted Eggs Renew Calls For Food Safety Overhaul by April Fulton
• NPR: How To Stay Safe During The Egg Recalls by Whitney Blair Wyckoff

Grist:

• After a half billion bad eggs get released, the FDA reveals filthy conditions of Wright County Egg by Tom Philpott

It's 7am here in Novato, time to walk across the creek (summer dry now, except for a puddle or two under the rocks) and feed the goats and chickens. These last few weeks have been a country-living idyll, if you can call a mere 15-minute drive from an on-ramp to 101 the country.

But the neighbors have horses, the only sounds at night are peacocks moaning and dogs barking, and across the creek and the little meadow is a former donkey stable turned goat-and-henhouse, home to two young goats, Teddy and Lila, each about the size of a spaniel, and 9 plump hens--4 blonde and bosomy Buff Orpingtons, 3 glossy Rhode Island Reds, and 2 perky little bantam Brahmas.

The chickens tolerate the goats, since their presence involves the appearance of tasty sweet hay and goat chow twice a day. Teddy and Lila, meanwhile, accept life with a mess of clucking, pecking birds underfoot as perfectly normal. Right now, they spend a lot of time bending their little goat brains into figuring out how to get into the enclosure where the feed tubs are kept. It's wood-walled, locked and chicken-wired at every opening, but that hasn't stopped them from poking and butting at every opportunity.

So far, living near these chickens has opened my wannabe urban-farmer eyes-- and ears. Chickens are noisy, even when there's no rooster around. Hens will cackle, call, chirp and just downright yell their feathered little heads off when they feel like it, 6am and your sweet dreams be damned.

The look in a hen's eye when one approaches her in her nest could drill holes in a diamond. I know egg baskets lined with cheerful gingham dish towels do not exist in nature, but any hen worth her salt will know exactly what you're up to when you come sidling up to her, little basket slung casually over one wrist. One more step and I'll shoot, she seems to say, and so far I haven't be brave enough to put her glare to the test.

There's already 2 dozen eggs in the fridge as it is, half left by the owners and half this week's haul. Some are white and dainty, others big and brown, but all are delicious as only new-laid eggs from happy hens can be.

The yolks stand up and shout, bright yellow ringed by a thick, nearly aspic-like white. Hard-boiled, they're nearly impossible to peel--too fresh. But scrambled, poached, fried sunny-side up, they make getting crowed out of bed at first light seem worth it.

Naturally, with the eggs of 9 happy layers at my disposal, challah, quiches, and custards of all sorts are looking pretty good.

For something made with not much more than milk, cream, eggs, and corn, corn pudding has many variations, most of which hark back to the South. There are simple, silky puddings, trembling and delicate as a Japanese chawanmushi, baked in a water bath to cook the custard gently and evenly. There are brawny ones, made with cornmeal (or, more likely, Jiffy cornbread mix) like spoonbread, kissing cousin to a corn muffin. Some are spicy with jalapeno and pepper cheese, others sweet with sugar.

Growing up, my mother made it the way her mother did: custardy and simple, baked in a white souffle dish and dusted with paprika for color. Sometimes she separated the eggs, first sauteeing some onion and red pepper in the butter, stirring in the flour then adding the milk and cream, bubbling it into a creamy white sauce. The egg yolks were whisked and tempered with a little sauce, then stirred into the sauce and cooked until thickened. The egg whites were beaten to drooping peaks, then quickly folded in and popped into a hot oven. Puffed and golden, this was no mere corn pudding but a puffed and golden corn souffle. Either way, served with broiled lemon chicken and a salad of ripe tomatoes dabbed with mayonnaise and fresh basil, these were eggs that tasted of summer.

Corn Pudding
Getting the pan of hot water into the oven without splashing (and burning) yourself is the one hurdle to using a bain-marie. The easiest trick? Bring a kettle of water to a boil. Preheat your oven. Put your pudding dish inside a larger baking pan (there should be at least an inch of room all around the dish) and place it on the oven rack. Using the kettle, pour hot water into the baking pan so it comes about halfway up your pudding dish. Slide rack carefully back into the oven, taking care not to slosh yourself.

When pudding is done, remove dish to a cooling rack or trivet. Leave the water-filled baking pan in the oven until cool, then remove.

Serves: 4

Ingredients
1 tbsp butter, melted
1 tbsp flour
1/2 tsp salt
freshly ground pepper
4 ears corn, or enough to make approximately 2 cups corn kernels
1 cup whole milk
1/2 cup half-and-half
4 eggs, preferably from happy hens
a few pinches of sugar (optional)
a few pinches of cayenne pepper or a few dashes of hot sauce, optional
Paprika

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350 F.

2. Grate each ear of corn across the large holes of a box grater until all the kernels and milk are off the cob. Or, cut kernels off cob with a sharp knife and pulse a few times in a food processor to make a lumpy puree.

3. Whisk corn, flour, and salt together.

4. Whisk eggs well and add to corn mixture along with milk and cream. Whisk in pepper, hot pepper, and sugar if desired. Lightly grease a 6-cup ceramic souffle-type dish. Pour corn mixture into dish.

5. Place a baking pan large enough to accommodate the baking dish onto the oven rack. Put baking dish inside pan, and fill pan with hot water to come halfway up the dish.

6. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, until top is golden brown and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

7. Let cool for at least 10 minutes before serving. Like most custard-based dishes, this tastes best when eating warm rather than hot.

Science of Taste

Did you know that about 95 percent of what we think is taste is actually smell? Or that the way we perceive flavor comes from a complex relationship between our senses, emotions and memories? As scientists decode how our taste and olfactory receptors work, top California chefs are taking that knowledge and creating alchemy in the kitchen.

Related Links:
Producer's Notes: The Science Of Taste

Web Extra: City Egg, Country Egg

Is there a difference in taste between eggs gathered right from the farm and ones bought at the supermarket? Sebastian Nava, Research Assistant at the Culinary Institute of America, Greystone, presents his ongoing study of store-bought eggs and their country cousins.

Eggs in a dish at Readers Books in Sonoma. Photo by Laiko Bahrs

I love the smell of Paas and vinegar in the morning! Really, who knew those little tablets, so ubiquitous at this time of year, were invented by a savvy colorful-egg-lover in Newark, New Jersey in 1880?

So happy Easter, all, and here's to the rituals celebrating birth, rebirth, resurrection and the arrival of spring. The chicks are pecking, the lambs are frolicking, and in my house, the return of warmth and sunshine (in between the April showers) means gathering friends and family for brunch.

And brunch, of course, means eggs. Now, you could serve your meal at one p.m. and call it Easter dinner, bring out the ham and peas, salmon and hollandaise, leg of lamb with electric-green mint jelly, with a basket of soft white rolls alongside and strawberries to follow. All perfectly lovely food that I've enjoyed at my mother's family's table many a time, and all dishes that any edition of The Joy of Cooking could tell you how to make in neat and foolproof detail.

Eggs and Easter, however, are inextricably linked, and since you'll be getting a dozen for dyeing, why not get a few more for eating, too? If eggs are going to be the centerpiece of your meal (not just the decorative center of your tablescape), this is the moment to splurge a little and get the good ones, from happy chickens that scratched and flapped and ate a poultry-happy omnivorous diet of worms and bugs as well as veggies and chicken feed.

In Italy, the term for egg yolk was il rosso, the red of the egg. The first time I cracked an egg in my kitchen in Bologna, I understood: the egg yolk was a brilliant, glowing deep orange, thanks to a rich and varied diet. Besides color, the texture of the egg can tell you a lot about its vigor and freshness. A fresh, hearty egg will have a plump stand-up deep yellow yolk ringed with a thick, clear, almost jellylike white. This is the egg that will scramble up like a dream, make a silky créme brûlée and a lavishly puffed soufflé. A slack yolk and a watery white—both indicative of weeks-old eggs, unhappy hen husbandry, or both—won't taste like much, and won't rise to any kind of glory.

Good eggs will cost a bit more, sometimes a lot more. But still, the price only seems high in comparison to the supermarket price we've gotten used to. Seven or eight dollars will get you one Mason-jar glass of wine at Heart, a little plate of roasted-beet salad at Frances, two cappuccinos at Four Barrel. Or a dozen happy eggs from Marin Sun, Clark Summit, Eatwell, or Soul Food Farm. That's about 60 or 65 cents an egg, a buck twenty for two over easy.

That is, if you haven't already made trading friends with your latest hen-keeping neighbor. Up in Marin, my best friend recently added 4 chicks to her husband-two-kids-and-a-dog household. Dubbed Honey, Duck, Athena, and Medea, they are impossibly fluffy and cute, and I can't wait to start trading jam and gardening help for their fresh eggs.

Egg cartons on the counter at Omnivore Books in San Francisco

Until then, I'm getting the next best thing, eggs from my friend Celia's neighbors near Dillon Beach in Tomales, which she sells over the counter at her wonderful Noe Valley cookbook shop, Omnivore Books. In fact, it was a proscuitto-and-spinach soufflé served by Celia and her partner Paula at a Christmas brunch 10 years ago that inspired this Easter recipe. (Meanwhile, there must be some kind of chicken/book connection; at Readers' Books in Sonoma, a chicken-keeping customer supplies the shop with eggs in exchange for books. And yes, the eggs in that top photo came in those colors straight from the chicken. Specialty breeds like the Araucana and the Ameraucana lay blue, green, and amber-shelled eggs, ready for Easter every day.)

The nicest part about this soufflé recipe is that it has never failed me. Forget whatever unfounded soufflé fear you may have picked up like a bad habit over the years. As long as you are gentle in your folding, and don't open the oven door while it's baking, you will be rewarded with a supremely impressive golden puff and a deliciously moist and fluffy plateful of sunshiny goodness.

Green & Pink Soufflé for Spring
Serve this alongside a nice green salad dressed in a mustardy French vinaigrette, and pour a pretty pink rosé. A tip: you'll get the most volume out of room-temperature eggs. To take off the chill, put fridge-cold whole eggs in a bowl and cover them with warm water for 5 minutes before cracking and separating.

Serves 4 dainty eaters or 2 greedy ones (with a little left over for later)

Ingredients:
3 tbsp butter, divided, plus extra for greasing
1 tbsp or so of minced green garlic, scallions, or shallots
2 big handfuls of tender greens, such as spinach, nettles, or chard (stems and any hard ribs removed)
2 1/2 tbsp flour
1 cup whole milk, warmed
4 extra-large eggs, separated, at room temperature
1 egg white
4 tbsp grated Swiss or Gruyere cheese
2 to 3 oz proscuitto, cut into strips
Salt, freshly ground pepper, and freshly grated nutmeg, to taste

Preparation:
1. Butter an 8-inch straight-sided ceramic souffle dish. Preheat oven to 375F.

2. Over low heat, melt 1 tbsp butter in a saute pan. Add green garlic and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add greens and cook, stirring, until collapsed and tender. Remove from heat. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out excess liquid and chop finely. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a little nutmeg. Set aside.

3. In a smallish, heavy pot, melt remaining 2 tbsp butter. Add the flour and whisk like crazy, letting it cook until it looks smooth and thick and smells slightly biscuity but doesn't color, about 2 minutes. Dump in the milk and whisk madly as it bubbles up and thickens, 2-3 minutes. Take off the heat and let it cool for a few minutes.

4. Whisk in the egg yolks one at a time. Stir in the grated cheese, greens, and sliced proscuitto. Add pepper to taste; the cheese and proscuitto will probably make it salty enough. Set aside.

5. In a large bowl using a clean whisk or hand-held electric mixer, beat your 5 egg whites until they form soft, droopy peaks when the beater is lifted.

6. Fold a scoop of whites into the cheese mixture to lighten it, then fold the rest in quickly and lightly. It doesn't have to be uniform; leaving some visible streaks of egg white is just fine. The egg whites are what will give your soufflé its fluff, so don't deflate them by over-mixing. Pour into the prepared dish and pop into the oven.

7. NO PEEKING! Let it cook for at least 30 minutes. Then check; it should be well golden-browned and beautifully puffy. Shake it gently; the center should be a bit jiggly without being soupy. Serve immediately, as it will begin to sigh and collapse shortly after being removed from the oven.

This is Chipper-- a happy little Meyer's Parrot who loves all the usual parroty things like seeds, grapes, playful biting, and his roommates. He squawks and bobs and has the characteristic tuft of yellow feathers on the top of his head that reminds me of Rip Taylor every time I see him. There's only one problem-- Chipper isn't a "he" at all.

A little while back, I received a phone call from my friend Lyle:

"Hey, uhhhh... Mike? So... Cybele and I just got back from Mexico and saw that Chipper just laid and egg. Cybele was wondering if you wanted to come over and eat it."

I was a little stunned. Not so much because of the odd invitation. I was delighted, in fact. It was more at the thought of my refusal to believe that Chipper was not, in fact, male. He's She's laid eggs before-- four or five over the course of her twenty-one years. I realized that I was clearly struggling with the bird's gender assignment and was frustrated that, since she is not as verbal as other breeds of parrot, I wouldn't be able to ask her how she felt about being a male trapped in a female body. Of course, it's more than likely that Chipper is completely happy in her female state. Thanks to years of therapy, I quickly understood that this was clearly my problem and not hers, so I moved on.

"Sure," I replied, "Why not?" The egg was collected and refrigerated. Arrangements were made.

When I arrived at Lyle and Cybele's home, I found still-warm-from-the-oven cornbread on the kitchen counter, along with freshly-made guacamole and salsa, some tortilla chips, and a pot of chili simmering on the stove. Chili. Oh, yes. I had forgotten it was Super Bowl Sunday. While millions of football fans across the country were preparing to eat their own chilis and nachos and what-have-yous, I had the feeling that we were possibly the only people in the country who would be eating parrot's egg.

"Do you want to see it?" asked Cybele. She placed a small blue ceramic bowl in my hand in which the egg had made its home for the past several days. It was tiny. I'm not sure what else I was expecting to come out of an eight inch tall bird. I wondered what the hell I was going to do with one egg that was smaller than a watch face.

I didn't have to think long. All the ingredients were right there on the countertop: the guacamole, the tortillas, the salsa. What else could I make but huevos rancheros? Correction: what else could I make but one, little huevito ranchero?

The trick, of course, was not to screw it up. Dropping it or breaking the yolk were out of the question-- this egg was too rare a thing to scramble. We discussed the best way to go about cooking the thing, which was to liberally coat one depression of a miniature muffin tin with olive oil spray, place the tin in a shallow amount of water, and heat gently-- very gently. I became nervous cracking the egg. It wasn't so much that Chipper had been let out of her cage to watch the action, but because, if I messed up, I would have to wait patiently for another two years before I'd get another chance to gourmandize the fruit of Chipper's womb. I gave the the shell a couple of swift taps with the dull end of a small knife. The shell was much softer and less calcified than a chicken's egg. I carefully peeled away the cracked bits that adhered to the thick inner membrane, making a window large and smooth enough to safely release the yolk and albumen, then let it gently slide into the warm, waiting mini muffin tin.

"Is it done yet?" asked Lyle as he peered over my shoulder. "It doesn't look done, but it has to be-- something that small shouldn't take so long. Is the heat on?" The heat was on and it didn't look done at all-- the white of the egg was still opaque. I was treating it like a chicken egg. Since I nor anyone in my acquaintance had any prior parrot egg-frying experience, the white of the egg seemed like a sensible gauge.

I touched the thing with the tip of my index finger. It felt done, so I pulled the tin from the heat and let it rest briefly as I prepared the egg's accessories. We were all pleased. I was surprised by how cute an egg dish could be.

It was, of course, on the small side. I could have fit the whole thing into my mouth at one go. Fortunately, I remembered that I was eating something very special and that the producer of this little pre-chili amuse bouche was perched directly behind me, making a mess of the bit of corn bread Cybele had just given her. I turned around and showed Chipper the plate. She cocked her head a little and then lunged at it. Would it be okay if she ended up eating some of her own egg? I quietly decided to myself that this was one moral question I did not care to find out-- I was too hungry and hung over from the night before to deal with such things. I merely thanked Chipper for the food I was about to receive. I felt as though I were saying some sort of Grace before supper, except, this time, I was saying it to an actual, living creature that I could reach out and physically touch, not an invisible deity. I turned my back again, uncertain of what Chipper's feelings might actually be regarding the matter, and tucked in and thought to myself, "Is this rude? Do farmers ever eat eggs in front of their own chickens? What's the etiquette here?"

I cut off a small amount of egg white and placed it on my tongue. It tasted oddly citrusy and I said as much. I asked Cybele what Chipper like to eat. "Oh, lots of seeds and grains. Oh, and grapes. Chipper loves grapes," she replied. The list went, but nowhere was anything in the citrus family mentioned. So the top note was this little birds own, special addition. Lyle and Cybele then each took a little taste. That's pretty much all one could do with the thing-- it was gone after that. One perfect little parrot's egg gone after three tiny, thoughtful bites. I sat there thinking to myself, "Is that... all there is?" I tried to remain as dead pan as Peggy Lee herself. I didn't want to offend Chipper.

Overall, I'm glad I got to try the egg. None of the pets I've cared for in my lifetime have ever given me anything as useful as something to eat. Sure, the cat had left several snack offerings, but sunbaked lizards and half-chewed finches are too much trouble to cook. And, before anyone utters a "How could you?", it's not as if Chipper was going to make use of the thing-- it was unfertilized. Perhaps we just spared her effort summoning any sort of maternal instinct the embarrassment of going through the motions of caring for something that would never become anything else if left to its own devices. Maybe it was better that we did let that egg become something else, like food.

Whatever the case may be, thanks Chipper, you've given new meaning to the term "pet food." I do hope we did your little egg justice. Maybe the next time around, we'll do something even more fun with it, like make a tiny soufflé studded with seeds and grapes in your honor or simply soft-boil it and serve it on miniature toast. We've got another two years to come up with a menu plan.

Which came first: the chicken salad or the egg salad? It's a question I'd never bothered to ask myself before this year.

Until recently, I don't think I've ever much cared, since I've never considered myself much of a creamy, protein-based salad person: egg salad, chicken salad, tuna salad, you-name-it salad. Boring stuff, all of them.

So maybe I was wrong.

Thanks to my friends, the Rosas, I have suddenly and quite firmly changed my mind. I developed a mad crush on Coronation chicken salad, thanks to my friend Shannon's mother when she made them for a egg-and-chicken salad, Creationism, eggs salad, evolution, Henri Bergson, recipecharity tea party. More recently, my disdain for egg salad melted away amid the hungry cries of three members of the 10-and-under set. When their father, Craig, asked me if I could whip up some egg salad for the kids, I didn't bat an eye, though I realized that I had never before in my life thought to make such a thing.

It was a simple affair: hard boiled eggs, mayonnaise, mustard, salt, and pepper. Uncomplicated, unfussy, and just the thing for three sometimes-fussy and anything-but-uncomplicated kids. And it was good-- it left me wanting more.

A Moral Pickle

As my mind turned to thoughts of lunch for the week, I couldn't make up my mind as to whether I should make a batch of chicken salad or egg salad. The annoying old chestnut "which came first, the chicken or the egg?" came to mind? Frankly, I had no idea. It's a frustrating scientific/philosophic question that has no business complicating my luncheon plans. But I thought about it some more.

"Now who are the people that believe that chickens came first?" I thought. Creationists, of course. But then, I wondered, did the chickens of Eden actually lay eggs? What would be the purpose of that, apart from providing the occasional treat for Adam and Eve? Did the necessity of egg-laying or, at least, egg fertilization occur after The Fall? Were these chickens tainted with the mark of Original Sin along with the humans who caused all the trouble in the first place? These were questions I refused to answer on an empty stomach.

"And who falls into the egg-first camp?" I wondered. I figured it must be the Evolutionists or, if one wants to be less 19th Century about it, Scientists. If I were to make a sandwich to please those who believe that all life on earth began with single-celled organisms which gradually evolved into more complex organisms like, oh, chickens, it seemed to me that I might want to start with a simpler, earlier version of the animal. In other words, eggs.

I was a little overwhelmed by now and uncertain as to whether or not I should even bother with lunch at all-- I was losing my appetite. "To hell with it," I thought, "I'll just make a salad with chicken and egg and make everybody happy." I thought I might couch it as a Creative Evolution sort of thing. Of course, people have been trying to reconcile the two camps ever since Darwin came out with that book of his more than a century and a half ago. Some people are still trying. I'd like to think that, should the great minds belonging to each camp ever sit down together to try and hash things out, they might like to have this sandwich for lunch.

The Henri Bergson
Makes about 6 sandwiches

Of course, Bergson's theory of Creative Evolution doesn't really cut the mustard with scientists anymore. And it certainly doesn't give much in the way of time-of-day to the Creationists. But he coined the term which I borrowed, so he gets the sandwich. Besides, there was a certain élan vital-- a natural creative impulse (in this case, the need to please myself by the avoidance of inner conflict)-- that caused the evolution of this here sandwich.

When making this salad, I discovered, much to my own mayo-loving horror, that I had only about two tablespoons left of the stuff in my refrigerator. Hmm. And then it dawned on me: why on earth does one need to add mayonnaise to an egg salad, when it's already, well, so eggy? What is mayonnaise anyhow but egg yolk, oil, acid, and a few other things? Necessity or, at least, an unwillingness to make an extra trip to the grocery store is the mother of culinary invention. And it's excellent for its purpose, in case you were wondering. I might never add mayo again.

Oh, and the apple? Totally works, too. Though the apple isn't specifically mentioned in Genesis Garden of Eden story, neither is celery, with is more traditionally used for crunch in egg and/or chicken salads. And, well, I'm just not a huge fan of celery. In terms of Western mythologies, the apple is the traditional trouble maker. Think Adam and Eve, think Judgement of Paris. It's sexier and much, much tastier.

Ingredients:

6 large eggs, hard boiled

2 breasts of chicken or whatever other parts you prefer/have on hand, diced. I poached the bird pieces for this recipe, but bits of roasted chicken would work well, too. Just make sure to yield 1 1/2 to 2 cups.

1 apple finely diced, your preference. Something sweet and tart, like a Pink Lady will do nicely.

About 5 tablespoons of olive oil

1 to 1 1/2 tablespoons dijon mustard

The juice and zest of one lemon (Meyer, in my case)

1 teaspoon of apple cider vinegar (or more to taste)

A heavy pinch of salt (or two)

Capers (as many as you like)

Chopped chives and dill for garnish

Freshly ground pepper, to taste.

Preparation:

1. Peel and slice your hardboiled eggs lengthwise. If you haven't the faintest idea as to how you might properly hard boil an egg, you are not alone. To hard boil eggs for this recipe, place the eggs in a single layer at the bottom of a pan and cover with cold water. Bring water to a boil, then immediately turn off the heat and let sit for seven minutes. Run cold water over the eggs to cool down the hot water, then add ice to the pot to stop the cooking process entirely. Congratulations, you now hopefully have six hard boiled eggs.

2. Remove yolks from the whites of your eggs and place them in a medium-sized bowl. Chop egg whites and add to another, larger bowl.

3. Mash yolks with a fork and to them add olive oil, lemon juice, vinegar, mustard, and salt. No need to worry about emulsifying-- everything will blend together. And there's no need to worry about lumps-- it's an egg salad, for God's sake.

4. Add diced chicken, apples, capers, and lemon zest to the chopped egg whites and toss together. Now add the egg yolk dressing, chives, dill, and ground pepper. Mix until thoroughly combined.

5. If you are not currently feeling rushed by the cries of cranky, hungry small children, you might want to let the salad sit in your refrigerator overnight. The results will charm the pants right off of you.

6. For best eating results, let salad warm for several minutes to shake the chill of refrigeration off its shoulder. So to speak, since it should be (hopefully) obvious to you that chopped salads do not, as a rule, have shoulders unless they have been molded to into the likeness of something with shoulders, in which case, it still wouldn't have shoulders, but merely looks as though it might have them. I think you know what I mean.

7. Serve over lightly-dressed greens or between two slices of toasted, hearty bread, like pumpernickel (as shown above).

Once upon a time, hens took a break during the winter, waiting for the arrival of longer, warmers days to lay their eggs and hatch their chicks. Although we've entrapped them in an endless summer of egg production, it's good to stop occasionally and remember that so many basic foods, especially the ones we take for granted, are still wonders of nature.

Yes, I know. If I were truly reverent, I would be a vegetarian or a vegan or, in the end, a breatharian. But I am weak.

And I love to eat.

Everything.

So when a dozen eggs recently made their way from a friend's chicken coop in Petaluma to my kitchen counter, I knew exactly how I would enjoy each and every one.

One of my favorite, work-a-day breakfasts is a couple of fried eggs over rice or, in the classic Saigon fashion, sunny-side up with a hunk of baguette, a drizzle of soy sauce and lots of cracked black pepper. To celebrate this week's very special acquisition, however, I fell back on a somewhat fussy but deeply comforting dish that I make whenever I have an abundance of supremely fresh eggs.

It's a blend of techniques I've gathered together over the years from various purist recipes for The Perfect Scrambled Eggs. The two key trucs are: 1) a garlic clove impaled squarely on the tines of a fork and 2) a double boiler set over barely simmering water. The first adds just a hint of depth without masking the egg's natural flavor, and the latter insulates its silken curds from the toughening abuse of direct heat.

There are many ways to change this dish, but the beauty of it lies in an utter simplicity of ingredients tempered with doting attention at the stove. The usual copious amounts of sweet cream butter are, of course, de rigueur. If you're feeling a bit more extravagant, a drizzle of truffle oil is entirely acceptable, or if you're way more moneyed than I, you can just shave the truffles right on top.

Strangely, I have never made this dish for anyone else. It's food that I enjoy in solitude, reveling in each private mouthful, free of the distraction of conversation or the worry of entertaining or the need to share.

Springtime Scrambled Eggs

Coordinate your bread toasting so that the slices will be ready just before the eggs are. With a dish this tender, choose a more delicate crumb and trim away the crusts. Anyone who insists on cooking the eggs until they are completely dry should not bother with this recipe.

Ingredients:
1 large clove garlic, peeled and halved
3 small eggs laid no more than 2 days ago
2 tablespoons half-and-half
Pinch of salt
Pinch of freshly ground white pepper
1-2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Preparation:
1. Pierce the garlic halves securely with the tines of a fork. In a small bowl, beat together the eggs and half-and-half with the fork until the whites are well incorporated with the yolks. Stir in the salt and pepper. Discard the garlic cloves.

2. Heat a double boiler or a heavy bowl over a pan of gently simmering water; there should be only a few bubbles rising at the edge of the water. Melt the butter, then add the beaten eggs. Using a rubber spatula, slowly scrap the side of the double boiler as each thin layer of egg solidifies above the rising steam. Continue gently scraping and stirring with a folding motion to preserve the silken waves of the egg curds. Be patient.

3. When liquid no longer pools at the bottom of the double boiler and while the eggs are still moist and shiny, quickly spoon the scrambled eggs over the waiting slices of toast. Savor while still hot.