As one moves through life, it is amazing the information that a person slowly gains. When I was growing up, we lived in rural Western Pennsylvania, one thing that we did not have was an abundance of restaurants. We didn’t even have a McDonalds anywhere nearby. Of course, part of the reason was that they either hadn’t been invented yet. The nearest real restaurant was about eighteen miles away. Most people didn’t travel eighteen miles to eat except for special occasions. We didn’t have that many and when we did it was for supper and certainly not breakfast. I will now explain why I mention breakfast.
One of the points here is that I never ate breakfast in a restaurant until after I graduated college. I lived at home while I attended undergraduate school. When I went to graduate school in Philadelphia, I would just grab something from Horn & Hardart’s – usually a cruller. They had the best crullers ever! For the uninitiated H & H was a cafeteria and a fast place to eat. It had lots of little windows with food behind them. You put in the proper coin and took out the item you wanted. It was also great for folks who didn’t have much money which certainly applied to me when I was in college. It’s too bad they no longer exist.
OK, I am aware that I still haven’t entered into my breakfast explanation. However, a good breakfast should not be rushed, and my mother was a good cook. Her biscuits are still made by three generation of Evans’s – my good wife, our son, and a grandson. I know there are two males in there, but they are great biscuits. When I was about to receive my master’s degree, I met my future wife – now known as The Blonde in the house. I ate out a lot in those days, but I did not really eat breakfast much. One day, The Blonde and I got married. We went on our honeymoon and then settled in our two-room section in the home of two very nice retired ladies.
Then one day my good wife asked what I would like for breakfast, and I replied that scrambled eggs would be good. She went to work and before I knew it, she put a plate of eggs before me. I looked at a plate full of what looked like oddly messed up cooked eggs, and politely asked what they were. She said they are scrambled eggs. I said no they are not. She replied evenly that they were indeed scrambled eggs. Well, inasmuch as we had been married for only two weeks, I was circumspect and explained what scrambled eggs should look like. After finishing a description, she stated that what I was describing was not a scrambled egg but a pancake egg. I protested that my mother called them scrambled eggs. We haggled a bit, but I decided as a new husband to go along with her misconception and have ever since asked for a pancake egg, if that is what I wanted.
The above confirms my first sentence above in that it shows no matter how sheltered a life you lead; you still accumulate information. Of course, there are all kinds of sheltered lives. The Blonde grew up in Pittsburgh and had never seen brown eggs until I brought some home. She wouldn’t eat them. She still won’t – if she knows it. I never realized how big a troublemaker eggs can be!
Barry Evans is a columnist for Villages-News.com
