I like eggs. Eggs are good for you, they taste good, and they are absolutely indispensible in baking. (I've tried it without before; it's not the same. Crazy vegans.)
So when the farmer's market that's held down the block on Thursdays opened up I took the opportunity to peruse the wares. $8 a pound for greens is ridiculous, but I was willing to concede to the $5 a gallon (no different than the grocery store here) farm fresh whole milk and $2.50 a dozen eggs, gathered that day.
Before I give the review, let me say that genetic modification of food is a major issue for me. I firmly believe that if it wasn't for all the hormones they pump into chicken and cows for faster production that my childhood growth rate would have been far different. I was in third grade (and a year younger than my other classmates) when I started getting the molehills that turned into mountains. I was ten when I won the monthly lottery and abruptly stopped growing taller, leaving me at my currently stumpy 5'3. My mom and dad both come from families where the average height runs from 5'5-5'7 and with minimal to average boobage. My brothers are 6', 6'1, and 6'2. I look like a toadstool next to them. Coincidence that chicken was on the menu a minimum of three times a week, eggs once or twice, and we drank an average of three gallons of milk every seven days? I think not.
Further, I have a theory that all of these additional hormones exacerbated my existing genetic predisposition toward Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) that I've been fighting since I was walloped with puberty. It sure as heck didn't stop the little buggers forming. Or slow the hair growth. Or improve the mood swings. Or any prevent of the other fun things like having these irritating, sometime exploding, cysts grow to the size of goose eggs that have to get removed with surgery. Yeah.
Not to put too fine a point on it, as a result I've become particular about the dairy and poultry products I consume. Thus, the milk purchased direct from the two old men running the booth for the farm.
First off, it actually looks like milk should look. Not watered down white "all bills paid" apartment paint (you know exactly what I'm talking about; especially if you've lived in them) but something that looks like it might have a modicum of nutritional value. The jug actually says "shake before pouring" because it hasn't been uber-purified and still has the straight from the source fat and vitamins in it. It was flavorful and a healthy off-white with a few flecks of cream floating at the top. In other words, it tasted like milk should taste. And now for something truly horrifying, go to the link below:
Human Milk from Cows
As far as the eggs are concerned, they were so fresh there were still tiny bits of hay and chicken feather in the carton. They ran the gamut from dark brown, to speckled, to one or two "Easter Egger" eggs; naturally light green. Cracking them open actually took effort as opposed to the standard, brittle, white-shelled eggs you get in the store. Inside was a "white" that was see-through clear until cooked as opposed to that cloudy gunk you usually get. The yolk was so bright it was almost orange, and when put in the frying pan became nuclear (no pun intended) yellow.
I now remember why I never liked eggs over-easy or over-medium as a kid; it's just too strong a flavor for me. The texture of a farm fresh egg is completely different from the industrial standard of atomic chicken goo offered today. Its yolk is extremely rich and gooey to the point of resembling a thin paste. The act of ingesting one is a constant reminder of the fact that it's an organic protein and not just some prepacked glut. This is how I remember them being as a kid on Sundays waiting for mom to put together our big breakfast of the week; waiting for the bright yellow goodness of scrambled eggs that tasted like more than just a conduit for salt and pepper. Come to think of it, breakfast was the only meal that never really burned.
And for perfect timing in the name of newsworthiness, this article. Be sure and read the comments about the picture.
http://www.nola.com/pets/index.ssf/2011/04/feral_chickens_have_proliferat.html
So when the farmer's market that's held down the block on Thursdays opened up I took the opportunity to peruse the wares. $8 a pound for greens is ridiculous, but I was willing to concede to the $5 a gallon (no different than the grocery store here) farm fresh whole milk and $2.50 a dozen eggs, gathered that day.
Before I give the review, let me say that genetic modification of food is a major issue for me. I firmly believe that if it wasn't for all the hormones they pump into chicken and cows for faster production that my childhood growth rate would have been far different. I was in third grade (and a year younger than my other classmates) when I started getting the molehills that turned into mountains. I was ten when I won the monthly lottery and abruptly stopped growing taller, leaving me at my currently stumpy 5'3. My mom and dad both come from families where the average height runs from 5'5-5'7 and with minimal to average boobage. My brothers are 6', 6'1, and 6'2. I look like a toadstool next to them. Coincidence that chicken was on the menu a minimum of three times a week, eggs once or twice, and we drank an average of three gallons of milk every seven days? I think not.
Further, I have a theory that all of these additional hormones exacerbated my existing genetic predisposition toward Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) that I've been fighting since I was walloped with puberty. It sure as heck didn't stop the little buggers forming. Or slow the hair growth. Or improve the mood swings. Or any prevent of the other fun things like having these irritating, sometime exploding, cysts grow to the size of goose eggs that have to get removed with surgery. Yeah.
Not to put too fine a point on it, as a result I've become particular about the dairy and poultry products I consume. Thus, the milk purchased direct from the two old men running the booth for the farm.
First off, it actually looks like milk should look. Not watered down white "all bills paid" apartment paint (you know exactly what I'm talking about; especially if you've lived in them) but something that looks like it might have a modicum of nutritional value. The jug actually says "shake before pouring" because it hasn't been uber-purified and still has the straight from the source fat and vitamins in it. It was flavorful and a healthy off-white with a few flecks of cream floating at the top. In other words, it tasted like milk should taste. And now for something truly horrifying, go to the link below:
Human Milk from Cows
As far as the eggs are concerned, they were so fresh there were still tiny bits of hay and chicken feather in the carton. They ran the gamut from dark brown, to speckled, to one or two "Easter Egger" eggs; naturally light green. Cracking them open actually took effort as opposed to the standard, brittle, white-shelled eggs you get in the store. Inside was a "white" that was see-through clear until cooked as opposed to that cloudy gunk you usually get. The yolk was so bright it was almost orange, and when put in the frying pan became nuclear (no pun intended) yellow.
I now remember why I never liked eggs over-easy or over-medium as a kid; it's just too strong a flavor for me. The texture of a farm fresh egg is completely different from the industrial standard of atomic chicken goo offered today. Its yolk is extremely rich and gooey to the point of resembling a thin paste. The act of ingesting one is a constant reminder of the fact that it's an organic protein and not just some prepacked glut. This is how I remember them being as a kid on Sundays waiting for mom to put together our big breakfast of the week; waiting for the bright yellow goodness of scrambled eggs that tasted like more than just a conduit for salt and pepper. Come to think of it, breakfast was the only meal that never really burned.
And for perfect timing in the name of newsworthiness, this article. Be sure and read the comments about the picture.
http://www.nola.com/pets/index.ssf/2011/04/feral_chickens_have_proliferat.html
I sometimes burnt the toast...
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