Omelets Save Lives

3 Jul

This morning began like any other morning: my mom came into my room at 7:30am asking me “If I was planning on sleeping in today?” To which I responded, “Well, I’ve never been much of a planner”…which signaled to my mom that I was free and available to take my dog to the vet at 8am…which I did, but only because there’s a Starbucks in Acton that’s on the way…which has actually been closed for weeks now… which meant I wasn’t functioning for most of the drive there…which meant I drove slowly and incompetently like a blind chicken while dealing with a barking dog in the passenger’s seat… Which meant it took me forever to get there and back… which meant I was STARVING by the time I got home.

Having woken up early and done so much by the hour of 9:30am, I decided to get really adventurous. Like, unprecedentedly so. For breakfast, I decided to…make…an…OMELET.

For those of you who don’t know this about me, let me just say it outright: I am to cooking as chocolate is to dogs: the combination is toxic. (Unless you’re my dog, who once ate her way through a Gameboy game and came out unscathed. She’s something out of a Sci-Fi movie, I swear.) When summer began, I had this goal that I would learn how to cook in order to become a “real person,” and to avoid the long, uncomfortable process of starvation come next semester when I have my first apartment. Hence the omelet. Omelets save lives.

At BU, we have an omelet bar where a large man named Pierre cooks omelets in real-time every morning. Which is awesome because I get to watch the entire process and learn how to craft the most perfect, delectable, fancy omelets in all the land!

What you just read was a blatant lie intended to add shock value and build anticipation. Sorry, I’m working on my lying problem. But seriously, you’d think I’d know how to make an omelet perfectly after all that observation. Then again, six hours of driving observation before my license test did nothing for me, so I guess I can’t be too surprised.

Anyway, back to the omelet. After staring at the open fridge for a solid five minutes and trying to decide what would be the most delicious combination of ingredients requiring the least amount of work, I settled on mushrooms, peppers, onions, and Swiss cheese. I know –  I’m a flavor genius.

Everything was going great. First, I chopped all of the vegetables (a skill I learned how to do last night when my mom and I made dinner.) For some reason, I was under the impression that a POUND of vegetables was the appropriate amount of filling for a two-egg omelet. The chopping block had enough veggies on it to feed a colony of rabbits.

I then whisked my eggs and put them in the pan, which had been heating on the stove for a considerable amount of time. The eggs sizzled and started to cook really quickly. Only then did I realize I hadn’t pre-cooked the vegetables. Awesome.

Quick-thinker that I am, I whipped out another pan and started to cook the vegetables. My two-egg omelet was now a two-pan operation. Double the heat, double the incompetence.

By the time I got back to my eggs, the underside looked like it had fallen asleep in a tanning bed before prom night. So I tried to flip it over but half of it fell out of the pan. After performing reconstructive surgery, I threw in my veggies and opened the pepper shaker to season said lopsided, just-wore-baby oil-in-an-inferno omelet. Someone in my family – probably hoping I’d be the next pepper user – had left the cap loose on the pepper shaker, which meant hoards of pepper escaped onto my omelet.

By the time Omelet #1 was complete, it looked like this:


Omelet or pancake? I’ll let you be the judge. I mean, is that not the most hideous looking excuse for food that you have EVER seen? If it is, you clearly haven’t seen those little taquito things that rotate in the heated cases at 7/11… In which case, you’ve led a lucky life.

I’ve never been one for wasting food, and I usually force myself to eat my horrible creations as a form of punishment, in the hopes that the disgust I experience will make me a better chef. Which it doesn’t. But this omelet was just NOT edible. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the entire inside was raw.

After scrapping Omelet #1, I took a deep breath and decided to do my research. Thanks to an informative article on, I brushed up my omelet-cooking skills and also learned “How to Shave Like Your Grandpa” via a short instructional film. I’ll let you know how that works out.

Feeling manly and informed, I began Omelet #2. Per the online instructions, I only cut about ¼ a cup of veggies. I also managed to use only one pan, and avoided the pepper trap. GO ME! The omelet that resulted looked like this:


It was actually really delicious! Or, at least edible. But, the kitchen that resulted looked like this:


And this:


When my dad walked in, he asked me how I’d managed to survive the tornado that had ravaged our kitchen. I said that it hadn’t been easy, but that I’d used both of my omelet pans to create a protective shield, which I’d used to save both my own life, as well as my dog’s.

What have you done today??


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