The Real Deal from the House of Deals

Breakfast is sacred to me.

Other eating times are social--good conversation with friends or family over dinner and wine is a wonderful experience--but breakfast is a private affair. I prefer getting up before Papi so that its just me, eggs, toast or biscuits and (fair-trade) tea, the Eastern Shore News, Mother Earth News or the New Yorker in front of me. It is a quiet and restful time, a transition from bed to the whizz and whorl of the outside.

I have become hooked on fried eggs, (perhaps not the healthiest of choices, but better than a doughnut) and have finally mastered cooking them without breaking the yolks. I feel a great sense of accomplishment about this--you have no idea how long it took me to get here!

Lately, the breakfast experience has taken on a whole new level with the discovery of fresh, local eggs from The House of Deals in nearby Onancock.

When I was younger, I never paid attention to The House of Deals because it was not the sort of place that most teenagers find appealing. The lighting is so dim that from the outside it doesn't even look open. Inside, the smell is a bit musty, the merchandise is close and jam-packed, and there is an overall sepia-toned appearance, as if you have just stepped into a 1930's photograph. Which is not as fantastical as it sounds. This is your grandfather's hardware store, complete with tin ceilings and wooden Coca-Cola crates. A group of old-timers routinely congregate here to chat over card games in the back.

Real eggs from a real chicken with a real life.

But up front, at the wooden counter, one can ask for a dozen or two elongated, bullet-shaped, brown eggs. That is, until recently. It seems that the hens are on strike. Papi, who grew up on a farm in Cuba and later worked at one of Perdue's research farms, assures me that this is a natural process, that hens go through periods where they simply do not lay eggs. Ok, I really can't blame them. It must be hard work pushing those things out all the time. But I miss them!

What I did NOT have for breakfast this morning.

The yolks are a deep, golden yellow and always double. And the taste? Just as rich and deep as the color. The ones from Food Lion are pale imitations in color, taste, and so I've read, nutrition. Seriously. After weeks of eating the bullet eggs, the Food Lion knockoffs that I had this morning were, well, bland. And watery. Truly, I cooked them exactly the same as the real eggs, and not only did the edges not crisp up, but they broke off in white puddle-like spooges on my plate. Ick.

Corporate agriculture and factory farms are awesome.