Thursday, April 26, 2012

I'll Bring You France

I have been trying to be better about getting to know my neighbors and making friends where I live. I made it a point to go to the mid-week church activities, including a quilting bee.

"A quilting bee?" asked Joe.
"Like a spelling bee?"
"I suppose...maybe it means a group of people getting together to work on one thing?"
"But wouldn't that be a spelling hive? Or a quilting swarm?"
"...You've got me on that one."

So it was, at quilting hive, that one of my neighbors discussed the newest chicks added to her brood of chickens. While the idea of keeping chickens is an anathema to me, I have no problems with any, or all, of my neighbors keeping them. They could even have a rooster; it couldn't be any worse than the outdoor parrot several houses away (that thing's cries echo off the mountains, my friends, piercing a Saturday morning like a gun shot.)  My neighbor, who is naturally energetic and a mile-a-minute, divulged her love of Pinterest and finding egg recipes. I volunteered a few ideas while composing my block. It was a lovely night and I'm glad I went. 

The door vibrated with a knock this morning, and I shuffled in my house coat, channeling Phyllis Diller, to find my neighbor holding a dozen fresh, very fresh, eggs. They were gorgeous: malt, seafoam, light moss, and cafe au lait. Little shavings of bedding crowned a few. When I broke them open, the orange yolks slayed me (like all good backyard eggs.) It's such a disappointment to crack a commercial egg after that, with its pale, sodden, winter sun of a yolk. 

My friend Becky posted Dorie Greenspan's French Lemon Cream Tart a few days ago. I couldn't think of a better use for those fresh eggs (and an obscene amount of butter, positively graphic.)

So I made two, one for us and one for my neighbor, because that's how I roll. Bring me eggs and I will bring you France. Bring me butter and I'll bring you England. Bring me chocolate and I'll bring you Mexico. Bring me sugar and I'll bring you heaven.

And wouldn't you know, when I left the tart,

she handed me a dozen more eggs for the walk home.


Jill K said...

Egg erotica at its finest.

Tonia Conger said...

Me and my winter sun, pale, pathetic, diseased eggs have total yolk envy. I bet mine came from chickens kept in the dark in ridiculously obscene conditions while yours came from chickens with hopes and dreams. I want eggs born of hopes and dreams.

Naomi said...

Nothing beats a good lemon tart. Yum.

fijiangirl said...

We have the same deal with a neighbor. Well sort of, we get her fresh eggs as long as I continue to supply her with cookies and used egg containers.

christy said...

"channeling Phyllis Diller". I died! I would love to purchase some fresh eggs. Do you know if Joy sells them? I haven't been to your blog in a while. You are so funny, Carina!

Hailey said...

I want to be your neighbor.

CKW said...

I am seriously tempted to bring you eggs, butter, chocolate AND sugar to see what results. ;-)

AzĂșcar said...

I am such an idiot with these eggs. They're so beautiful and delicious and I am still stupid allergic to them.


Tzipporah said...

Dude. I would be your neighbor in a second if you'd bake for me. Although my husband might find the commute a little long.

Morgan said...

I love the look on her face and man, now must positively make that tart! France, here I come!

KT said...

Sometimes your blog makes me both hungry and want to visit France.

kiki said...

I want to give you fresh eggs so hard right now!

kiki said...

HAHAHA! That sounds so dirty!