A fried egg sandwich & the end of an era.
I originally published the following blog post on one of my previous blogs, The Meaning of Eat. I still love this post and I think it shows how the little moments in our lives can be big moments, too. This is how you can practice telling your own story: look deep into the little things; record the details; remember why you remember.
Tonight I am up late working on some projects and decided a fried egg sandwich was exactly what I needed for a midnight snack. It made me recall a very simple, very straightforward fried egg sandwich I had about 12 or so years ago that still invokes a powerful memory.
The reason that sandwich is memorable is because it is what I ate to break my years of eating vegan. My sister, with whom I’d shared my stint in veganism, made and ate a sandwich along with me. I remember feeling a sense of trepidation and eagerness, because it was exactly what I was craving, but it was also bold - I hadn’t eaten eggs for years. I was not a subtle vegan: I was a soapbox vegan. (In that respect, incredibly different from who I am today.) But things were changing; I’d changed. I was ending the diet, and I was ending it with a gently fried egg sandwiched between two slices of hot toast, probably buttered and maybe even slathered with mayonnaise.
I can remember breaking into the sandwich with my teeth and the emotion that flooded forward like the yellow yolk. A feeling of relief, of gooey, yolky satisfaction, the excitement of breaking this long, laborious regime, and a bright little burst of energy - caused, no doubt, from pure protein entering my body. There was also a sense of guilt, of something being lost, of uncertainty brought on by starting a new path.
Something ends, and something begins. So says an egg: fried simply, between bread.