OccupyEggs4

Did someone donate these dozens and dozens of eggs? “No, you could say they were remaindered. I rescued them from the garbage, one of the grocery store's dumpsters had a caseload, there must have been upwards of 25 dozens. None of the cartons, none of the eggs were even broken. But Josh and I smelt them and we broke open a few to check and they smell fine. So as long as you cook them thoroughly you'll be fine.”

But she hadn't cooked them fully, considered cooked yolk a waste of her own cholesterol allowance, so sunny-side up the first time in the Occupy Kitchen, then deep fried in super-hot oil, the white crusted, the yolk warm but uncooked, and later fried whole in their shells, the white rubbery, runny and the yolk again warm and uncooked, pasting the insides of her mouth with that full yolky taste so rare in American eggs or even Indian ones, these days.

With the deep-fried eggs, she'd struggled single handedly, alternating the scissors and her fork in her right hand to cut the egg and bread and red peppers and then scoop it all to her mouth, until she realised with the last bite that for some length of time now she had been looking only at her plate – the yolk cascading down the bubbled and crisped egg-white, the red bell peppers with their flecks of black skin and bits of chopped garlic embedded in the flesh, the multigrain bread now soaked in the liquid from the peppers and the oil and yolk, she hadn't been reading the book still propped open in her left hand.