September 11, 2010

Weekends are for Omelettes

Hmm. Okay. Until I just now typed  the word "omelet" I realized that I had never before in my life written the word down. What a strange word. It keeps getting stranger the longer that I look at it, and I initially left out the first "e" when titling this post.

I'm done now. That's enough morning confessions for me.

Indeed, weekends are for omelettes. Weekends are for all those wonderful, slow and methodical foods that Monday through Friday simply don't make time for. That said, an omelette isn't complicated or time consuming, and that's part of what makes it so great. But, this breakfast is a bit special for a weekday...

When I was a child I had an omelet every single morning before school. I realized only after leaving home for college just how special I actually was to receive this daily gift of hot, cheesy goodness atop a crunchy buttered bagel. You see, my father was the man behind the breakfast, and though life as an empty-nester has led him to long put away his whisk and pan, what he gave me was a childhood full of morning thankfulness.

Each morning, my father would rise at 4:00am. I'd drift from sleep as I heard his steps slowly creaking down our staircase in the dark. Then, I'd wake again, this time for good, to the return of his creaking steps coming up the back deck at 6:00am. He'd go straight to it, dropping his gym bag in the laundry room, and soon I'd hear the sound of eggs being whisked in the bowl and smell the toasted crumbs of the cheddar cheese bagels he loved to pick out for us from the store's bakery.

When I finally stumbled downstairs, dressed and ready at 6:30, he'd present me with my plate: a golden yellow omelet oozing with sharp and creamy dark orange cheddar cheese, and a lovely butter-yellow bagel on the side, toasted to perfection and marbled with deep cheddar swirls. 

Simply remembering these mornings now makes me want to exclaim, "how lucky was I!?" But truly, I wasn't lucky because of the food. The food was secondary. I was lucky because the food was love in its most pure, caring, parental form. Thanks, Dad.

Now, I make myself my own omelettes, such as this feta, mozzarella, and spinach creation below.... and now that I'm on my own there are no weekday omelettes: weekends are for omelettes.

It was savory and filling, lovely in every way. I've learned that to make a good omelet it's best if the eggs are brought to room temperature for a while before making, and that the pan be thoroughly pre-heated over low heat for an even crust.

Whether my dad did all these things or not, I don't know. What I do know is that what he did for twelve years was absolutely perfect.

Lauren's Omelet for One:
2 fresh large eggs
1 T. water
1/2 t. sea salt
1 t. hot sauce
Fillings of choice: cheeses, meats, vegetables.
Pepper to taste

Directions: Coat a 6" pan with cooking spray or butter. Bring to medium heat, then reduce to low. Meanwhite, whisk the eggs, water, salt, and hot sauce in a bowl until light and fluffy. Pour the eggs into the pan. When a crust begins to form, pick up the pan and gently swirl the uncooked egg around the sides to distribute it outward, then add your toppings evenly. Be careful not to add too much weight to break the eggs when it's flipped over. When you're able to gently lift up one side of the omelet with a spatula, you're ready to flip it. Work the spatula underneath half of the omelet, then quickly fold in half. Serve immediately, with buttered toast or bagel.


  1. Love the story - your Dad is the greatest! Enjoy your omelet weekend.

  2. Thanks, Elizabeth. It was like reliving childhood to remember those breakfasts and write this post -- what fun. I am glad you liked it!



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