Imagination

I read Angela's Ashes several years ago. If you haven't read it, it's a worthwhile memoir about growing up poor in Ireland. There was a part of the book where the starving brothers somehow come into some money that they get to their mother for food. McCourt describes the amazing, wonderful pleasure of eating a soft-boiled egg -- how luxurious the flavor and texture and golden richness of the yolk was, with a little salt and some bread.

I remember that after reading that passage I went and cooked myself an egg and as I ate it I thought of some starving Irish boys eating it with reverence and hunger and delight. It was truly delicious, nourishing, miraculous. And ever since then I've managed to sustain this sense of magical wonder about eggs. They've remained one of my favorite foods; if I had to pick just one thing to eat forever I think it would be eggs. But what's cool is the lasting effect of that book on me -- it made something mundane and commonplace into something I still feel gratitude for. I get to eat an egg almost any time I want. I am so lucky, and for years I never noticed.....

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