Fork on the Road

It was a spluttery day here in the French countryside. The stone walls in the hamlet are damp and water droplets are still clinging to the apple blossoms. When I brought the mail in this morning, I discovered that an escargot had taken up residence on an envelope. I guess you could truly call that “snail mail.”

The brothers in their garden

 But despite the rain, everyone in Cazo was hard at work today. The old brothers who live down the hill were out gardening, dressed in crisp collared shirts and smart pullover sweaters. All afternoon they pushed a wheelbarrow up and down the narrow winding pathway that leads to their “potager.” Already beautiful, fully formed heads of lettuce have popped out of the rich soil. The brothers, who are known for their green thumbs, will be out every day from now until late fall caring for their patch of earth.

 Marie, the shepherd, accompanied her animals into the hills for their afternoon graze. I ran out of the house to catch a glance as I heard them leaving the village; the dogs, goats and sheep a flurry of barks, bells, whistles and bleats. Luc, Marie’s partner, stayed behind to fix the ailing tractor and take care of their two young sons.

 In the face of all this industriousness, this celebration, the nurturing of the earth and its riches, I decided to do my part and prepare an omelet for dinner. Not just any omelet, mind you, but one made from eggs laid in Cazo.

 As darkness fell and I assembled ingredients, I got to thinking about eggs, quite appropriate on this day before Easter. They are a symbol of new life. And they are incredible and edible: used, among other things, for thickening sauces, to stiffen a mixture, to enhance soup, to glaze bread and, in this instance, to form the base of a substantial main dish. Incredible indeed. Did you know that the proper handling and cooking of eggs is one of the first things you learn about at culinary school? The instruction can last for days.

Very fresh eggs

 Just to make sure I got my technique right, I checked in with an expert: Anne Willan. There are three ways to cook an omelet: folded, flat and souffle.  Tonight I focused on the folded variety. Willan, in her classic (and sadly out of print) La Varenne Pratique, advises that an omelet be made with only eggs and a seasoning of salt and pepper. “A few finely chopped herbs or a sprinkling of grated cheese,” she writes “can be a welcome addition.”  I think that if eggs could speak, like Willan, they would tell cooks “Keep it simple.” When an egg is fresh, its flavor is earthy, it tastes and looks like a sunbeam. Cooking should enhance rather than diminish this. Too many other ingredients can be overpowering, unnecessary and do a disservice to the many hands that have carefully cultivated it.

 So on this night I decided to let the eggs speak.  I cracked two into a bowl and added a splash of milk (forgive me Ms. Willan but I have always, always added a splash of milk). I whisked until the mixture was frothy and added a pinch of salt and a grind of pepper (as, instructs Willan, adding the salt earlier in the process can make the eggs watery). I then I set the flame to a level that demonstrated “brisk but not fierce heat” – Willan reminds us that omelets are the exception to the rule of cooking eggs over a low heat – and placed a seasoned pan on the burner to melt an almond-sized dollop of butter.

 And then my work was quick. In went the egg mixture. I twirled and swirled it delicately with a spatula for about 1 minute until it started to set on the top but was “agreeably brown on the underside.” My fillings were minimal: several steamed spinach leaves, a crumble of sheep’s milk blue cheese and a few strands of grated, golden Emmental.  When I slid it out of the pan, folding it into three with a quick twist of my wrist, it looked as if the sun had come out on the plate.

Simplicity on a plate

 It was a splendid dinner of an omelet and a glass of wine. The meal was a celebration of spring and simplicity. And I could have sworn that  just before I finished the last bite I heard the egg say “Bravo.”

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