Une Omelette, Deux Histoires

Upon reflection, I can call to mind two formative omelette experiences in my past. The first was in Paris (how very cliche), on the very first night of my study abroad year. I was alone and missing my family. It was dark, I was convinced that my temporary boardinghouse was haunted, and although I was famished, I was too scared to eat much of anything. Having no way to cook in the temporary digs, I popped down the street and found a little cafe all lit up and inviting looking in front of the Sorbonne, Paris IV. There was a red awning, wicker chairs, and black aproned waiters bossily demanding my order before I even knew what was on the menu. Feeling rushed and unsettled, I ordered an omelette parmentier, hoping to warm up but go gentle on my tummy. It was warming and filling, and the potatoes and eggs weren't dressed up in any way that could take away from the pure loveliness of their being potatoes and eggs. I went back to my boardinghouse, and fell asleep on my cot, listening to the neighboring tenant sitting in the courtyard window, mournfully playing her flute.

And then there was a night in Surin City, Ubon Rachathani, Thailand when Mr. Mersy and I were dumped by the side of the road by the guy we had hitched a ride with and had to wait three hours in the dust to catch a night bus packed with mangos, sweat, and a blaring kungfu movie to take us to the nearest place we could find somewhere to sleep that wasn't a cane field. We ended up in a dusty town square eating an omelette with rice and sot prik (pepper sauce), drinking orange Fanta to wash away the heat. There was something about the rice and the sesame oil and the pepper sauce that turned me into a Thai omelette addict that night, and despite Mr. Mersy's best efforts, he couldn't get me to eat anything else for the rest of the trip. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all I wanted to eat was a fried egg on rice slathered with hot sauce. (Needless to say, I caught a case of food poisoning that plagued me for weeks, but that's beside the point) Halfway through our supper, I looked up and realized that an elephant, and honest-to-goodness elephant was standing across the street from me, making his peaceful way around town, wandering freely and being respected by all. I nearly choked on my bite of omelette. Waving my arms, coughing and babbling, I shouted to Mr. Mersy to look! Oh my gosh, it's an elephant! Whatever shall we do!!!!! Mr. Mersy's response was a kind but admittedly condescending smile and an explanation that "That's how it is in Thailand". And then, while I sat gawping he ordered another Fanta.

Today for lunch I made an omelette that combined both of those experiences. After watching an excellent video of Julia Child explaining omelette making, I did just what she said and used my cast iron skillet which worked out fine. A bit of rice and a bit of pepper sauce (this was sambal olek), and a puppy companion by my side made for a lovely meal.