Staying at home since the beginning of March has left me an urban farmer’s dilemma: What to do with all these eggs?
As I have hunkered down during the pandemic and carved out a space to work in my dining room, in many ways it seemed as if the world has stopped. All but the eggs. My girls keep popping them out. One after another.
I thought I was doing a great job of eating as many as I could: boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, sunnyside up, deviled eggs, potato salad, egg salad, cakes, cookies, stir fry. But when I opened the fridge today, I realized my calculations were way off.
Eight dozen. Eight dozen eggs. And the start of a ninth.
It was undeniable. I had become an egg hoarder.
In “before times” I operated in a world where my eggs had currency with neighbors and colleagues. I offered a dozen to a family that just moved to the neighborhood, or I left a carton on my boss’s desk. (I’m not above it!)
But now, social distancing has changed by farmyard game.
The egg machines don’t stop for a global crisis. So I need to come up with a new strategy. While researching options, tonight I found out it’s possible to freeze eggs. Whoa. That might take my hoarding to a whole new level.