The scrambled eggs Elizabeth makes are sumptuous and rich yet light. Warm, like her friendship.
Wait. Didn’t I say this wasn’t a food blog?
I grew up knowing food and knowing my way around a kitchen. My mom is a good cook and made sure I knew the basics. She made sure I treated my Home Ec homework with just as much importance as my English and Math. What I learned from her is, today, the building blocks of my arsenal. It’s because of her that Mr. S. gets something to eat every day. Nutritious and balanced, most of the time. My sweet mom has a big heart and it’s because of her that I’m a cook.
But it was Beth — honestly, she’s Elizabeth to me — who taught me to be a chef. Elizabeth redeemed butter.
Elizabeth and I met at a church in Kansas City called Redeemer Fellowship. It’s a place of good community and Gospel-driven preaching. I had volunteered to serve communion that morning, and Elizabeth and I got paired together. I have to smile when I reflect on that. That our first interaction was in the serving of food is beautiful and indicative . . .
Elizabeth and I connected and I was grateful. I was new-ish to town and craved real relationships. She graciously invited me to, well, everything. And almost everything involved food. After a meal or two, I learned what a chef Elizabeth was.
Maybe we’ll blame it on the 1980s. Butter = bad. Margerine = good. Right? Isn’t that what we were taught growing up? But, just bites into every dish she prepared, I realized why everything Elizabeth made tasted just richer and fuller and oh-please-more-of-that.
We had a tradition of meeting one morning a week before work for Bible study and breakfast. She would show up and I’d have my hair in a towel, usually. And, in her grace, she’d make scrambled eggs to the soundtrack of my hair dryer.
Low and slow, she taught me. Melt a pat of butter in the bottom of a big pan. Real butter, if you’re going to make it the Elizabeth way. And that’s the way you need to make them. Your frying pan should be warm, not hot. Too hot is a rookie mistake, and I made it all the time. Scramble the eggs in a bowl and when you think you’re done scrambling, scramble a little bit more. Salt and pepper and scramble again. Pour this into the pan and stir with a spatula. Low and slow. The eggs should warm with the pan. Like growth or faith love or friendship or most good things in life, there’s no rushing this. And if you’re making them at my house, you’ll probably throw some broccoli in there too. If you’re making them for Mr. S., you should probably shred some cheese and throw that in too. Turn off the heat when the eggs are still a little glisten-y and they will cook with the residual heat. On a plate, toast on the side. Jam or jelly on that toast if you have it.
Simple. And significant and nourishing. Butter isn’t the enemy; it’s the friend.