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Private things.
I have something in my fridge right now I never thought I'd ever have in there. I'd read about it, I had the vague idea it could be possible, and didn't make that connection to my ability to make it a reality until I went to the farmers market earlier today.
I've got a pair of goose eggs.
I nearly passed them by, but then I turned around and saw them at the end of the stall, the last two in the basket, and bought them immediately. They were an impulse purchase, and I've definitely made worse ones. Certainly ones where I haven't been as happy with what I bought.
I've eaten all sorts of chicken eggs, duck eggs, and even quail eggs, but never a goose egg. I've never even held one, and I've managed to hold ostrich and emu eggs. These are, trust me, gorgeous eggs. Enormous eggs. They take up the whole of my hands, easily as big as three typical chicken eggs, maybe even four. The shells feel like old china dolls or some sort of ceramic, that texture that's just rough enough to give fingertips something to catch on and smooth enough to let them glide over the surface. They feel like skin, because they breathe, because there's really the sense that something would have lived in them, if the geese had been given a chance. Some of that's novelty: I've never seen goose eggs before so I don't know how to think of them as something to eat the way I think of apples and bagels, where I have the training to divorce them from where they come from. Some of that's how they're really not like any other egg I've ever had the opportunity to encounter. I don't even really want to eat them when I could hold them instead. But they won't stay good forever.
I think what I need to do is spend a couple of days practicing how to hollow out eggs, because even if I do break down and end up crack them open on the countertop, I need to know I gave saving the shells a shot. If I had a backyard, I'd bury them in the garden, because that seems like the right thing to do with goose eggshells. Since I don't, I feel like I need to save them from just being tossed out into the compost.
“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.” - M.F.K. Fisher
And I'm allowed inside that private thing, and I should be mindful of that. More people ought to be.
I've got a pair of goose eggs.
I nearly passed them by, but then I turned around and saw them at the end of the stall, the last two in the basket, and bought them immediately. They were an impulse purchase, and I've definitely made worse ones. Certainly ones where I haven't been as happy with what I bought.
I've eaten all sorts of chicken eggs, duck eggs, and even quail eggs, but never a goose egg. I've never even held one, and I've managed to hold ostrich and emu eggs. These are, trust me, gorgeous eggs. Enormous eggs. They take up the whole of my hands, easily as big as three typical chicken eggs, maybe even four. The shells feel like old china dolls or some sort of ceramic, that texture that's just rough enough to give fingertips something to catch on and smooth enough to let them glide over the surface. They feel like skin, because they breathe, because there's really the sense that something would have lived in them, if the geese had been given a chance. Some of that's novelty: I've never seen goose eggs before so I don't know how to think of them as something to eat the way I think of apples and bagels, where I have the training to divorce them from where they come from. Some of that's how they're really not like any other egg I've ever had the opportunity to encounter. I don't even really want to eat them when I could hold them instead. But they won't stay good forever.
I think what I need to do is spend a couple of days practicing how to hollow out eggs, because even if I do break down and end up crack them open on the countertop, I need to know I gave saving the shells a shot. If I had a backyard, I'd bury them in the garden, because that seems like the right thing to do with goose eggshells. Since I don't, I feel like I need to save them from just being tossed out into the compost.
“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.” - M.F.K. Fisher
And I'm allowed inside that private thing, and I should be mindful of that. More people ought to be.