Eggs and Orange Juice

I cooked breakfast at the homeless shelter again this morning.  I’m happy to report there were a lot of eggs in the fridge.  33 people woke up in the shelter, but as you might guess, not everyone wakes up hungry.  Most all want coffee, but some aren’t ready for food.  Some just want to be left alone. 

I arrived at 6:30, got organized, and by 6:45 was ready to start feeding people.  My friend Steve, the night guy who volunteers from 3:00 -7:00, found pork chops in the fridge, cut them up, seared them then baked them, and had them warming in the oven along with some leftover ham and potatoes.  He found some pre made rolls of biscuits and had them on a baking sheet in the oven on a timer.  On the kitchen work table were two flats of eggs, one not quite full.  I counted them.  44. 

I had two skillets hot on the stove, a bottle of oil, salt and pepper, and a spatula.  On the counter next to the stove I set up a bowl for cracking eggs into, a big bowl for the shells, and a half a glass of milk.  I quietly interrupted the early morning reverie of a guy hunched over his coffee cup in the semi dark.  I had the kitchen lights on but no one had turned on the overheads in the dining room.

“You ready for breakfast?”

He looked up like I startled him, hesitated, then said

“Yeah.”

“I’m cooking eggs.  How do you like ‘em?”

“Sunny side up.”

I cracked two eggs into the bowl, one in each hand, and poured a little oil in the skillet.  When I emptied the bowl into the skillet, the whites puffed up and popped a little.  I turned the heat down and seasoned them with salt and black pepper.

“You want some porch chop with these eggs?”

“Sure.”

Sunny side eggs don’t take long.  I had a circle of egg whites with two yellow suns slid onto a square white plastic plate in short order.  I opened the oven door and spooned on three or four hunks of pork next to them.  The timer had just gone off for the biscuits so I took them out and slid them into a big bowl, covered it with a plate.  They looked a little flat.  I don’t think that tube dough is ever as good as the stuff you mix up yourself.

“Toast or biscuits?”

“Toast.”

I had put four slices of whole wheat in the toaster.  I pushed the lever down on two and rummaged around in the fridge for butter.  Nothing but margarine.  I brought it out with a jar of red raspberry jelly.

“Here you go.”

I slid him the plate. 

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t you turn the lights on out there?”

He did.  More people began to show up. 

The next guy wanted a plate just like the first guy had.  A woman came up to the counter and wanted her eggs scrambled.  I cracked them, two at a time, into the bowl.  As I added milk and began to beat them with a fork I looked at her, tall and thin, looked at all the eggs I had, and added one more.  She wanted the pork chop too.  When I asked her if she preferred biscuits or toast she said.

“Oh my.  You have hot biscuits here?”

She said that in up talk fashion, her voice ending on a high note.

“Yes I do ma’am.  Just like downtown.”

“Then yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Give me the biscuits please.”

Soon a line formed and that process repeated itself over and over.  For the record the most popular egg order is over easy.  But I heard a new one.  A young guy in a hockey jersey ordered his like this:

“Over.  Kill the yolks.”

I took that to mean over hard.  I messed up his yolks with my fork in the skillet.

Two kids came out before their Dad and got a bowl of cold cereal each.  They were quiet.  Could have been their first morning in the shelter.  I saw them alone, went out to where they were sitting. and asked them if they would also like some eggs.  The girl looked at her big brother, who nodded at her, and she responded quietly.

“Yes.”

I addressed the brother.

“How about you?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you like them?”

I pointed at the girl.  She looked at her brother.  They both looked at me dumbly.  Finally the brother answered tentatively.

“Regular?”

“Eggs don’t come regular.  All ways are equal.  You like them scrambled?”

They looked at each other again.  Again the brother answered.

“No.”

“So you want the whites around the yolks.”

“Yeah.”

“And how do you like those yolks?  Runny?  Sorta runny?  Not runny at all?”

The brother answered for himself.

“Sorta runny.”

I pointed to the girl.  She looked at her brother, then me.

“Sorta runny.”

“Sounds like you both want your eggs over easy.  Try to remember that next time someone asks you.  That is, if you like the eggs I bring you.  I have biscuits or toast.  Which will it be?”

The boy opted for biscuits.  His little sister asked for toast.  I was about to walk back to the kitchen when the girl began tugging on her brother’s shirt.  A little annoyed, he bent towards her.  She cupped her hand around his ear and whispered something.  He looked a little disgusted, then looked up at me with a bored face.  Embarrassed I think.

“Do you have any orange juice?”

“Sorry.  Not today.  Lemonade or milk.”

He looked at his sister.  She shook her head.

“OK.  Thanks anyway.”

Their Dad came out and after conferring with his kids ordered his eggs over easy too.  I fixed three plates, kept everything warm, and served them all at once.  Dad was reading the want ads in the local paper.  Later I looked out and the little girl had her toast all cut down the middle and carefully slathered with raspberry jelly.  They were all talking together, the three of them. 

The little girl came up with their plates when they were finished, putting them in the plastic bin under the counter. 

“How did you like those eggs?”

“Good.”

“OK. That means you, your brother, and your Dad all like your eggs over easy.  Remember that.”

“Over easy,” she said, as if she was practicing.

And thus I served 43 eggs to a bunch of people on Monday morning, January 15, 2018 in Ottawa, Illinois at the PADS shelter.  May they all have homes, and their own eggs, very soon.

For all of you who have brought eggs to the shelter, and it appears there are many, thank you.  Keep them coming.  They make for good mornings.  Don’t forget the orange juice