Some mornings, you just know that a bowl of cereal won’t cut it. Whether you’ve been out partying into the wee hours the night before, or stayed IN partying to the wee hours (*wink wink*), a hit of protein first thing in the morning is just what the Dr. ordered.
Enter the Egg Sandwich.
No matter how you cook it, top it or serve it, it’s a great “morning after” meal.
With that in mind, I decided to cook breakfast for Army Boy after one of our first overnight visits.
I made my version of the Egg Sandwich, a traditional version passed down from my Aunt, who can whip these puppies out in no time flat. I don’t know what it is about them, whether the quantity of butter or the precise placement of the cheese, but they’re heavenly.
To assemble: One English muffin, buttered. One fried egg, over easy and runny in the middle. 1-2 pieces American cheese. Voila! Perfection.
Except… not. Army Boy regarded the oozy middle skeptically, and said “I kinda like these with scrambled eggs.”
“Oh, ok. I’ll make it that way next time!” I offered, pretending that wasn’t a stupid idea.
A month or so later, and we were due for another round of egg sandwiches. Let’s pretend it was because of a night of rock star sex. Because it probably wasn’t. It may have been as a result of a Planet Earth marathon. See why the sex was more fun?
Act Two: I mixed up some gloriously light and fluffy scrambled eggs, divided them and topped them with cheese just long enough to let them get gooey. Served on buttered bagels.
Army Boy consumed his, but looked at his plate with consternation as some of the scrambled eggs came out the sides.
“I don’t think the eggs should be scrambled like this… more omelette style?” he suggested.
“Ok, next time you get to make the egg sandwiches your own damn way,” I conceded maturely.
Fast forward to take three, yesterday morning. This time, the egg sandwich craving was actually as a result of a movie-marathon. Which was a result of the exhaustion of rug-shopping and dealing with the last week of scrambling before closing.
Did I mention that? Our closing is in 5 days. We will be home-owners. And have a mortgage.
I will have grey hair and wrinkles overnight.
*looks around for a bag to hyperventilate in*
Craving sustenance before Rug Shopping, Day 2.0 (we have gorgeous hardwood floors. Which I love. But are in need of some area rugs to up the cozy factor in the bedrooms), I made a mistake.
I decided to make the egg sandwiches.
I made the lovely, fluffy scrambled eggs again. And this time, allowed them to spread out in the pan omelette-style, as specified by his Royal Pain in the Assness. Who, after doing his part in the process by readying the bread, came over and proclaimed:
“That’s going to be too hard to flip. You let it spread out too much.”
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
I promptly chucked all the eggs in the sink and stomped upstairs to get my keys for a Mcdonald’s run.
I pointedly ignored him, flipped said eggs and turned them into a delicious sandwich. Army Boy was finally pleased. Which is good, because I am ready to retire my spatula.
But really. He’s making any future egg sandwiches. To give me the opportunity to complain and point out that they taste like ass. That’ll teach him.
Maybe we’ll just compromise and make two different versions from now on. My (RIGHT) way, and his way.
Internets, is there anything that you and your partner have to come to a compromise on? Laundry, cooking, housecleaning, etc?
**Updated: I loved ALL of your comments on this post. From telling me that “yes, this is normal,” to “it’s ok to stomp off,” to “Cohabiting will allow you to more intimately connect with Army Boy,” they were like balm on my pissy little heart. I love you guys.**