Are You Eggperienced?  I can't eat eggs. Allergic. I'm 92% sure of the fact. Some people, who pretend to know better, say that I can't be allergic to eggs because of my penchant for eating cake.
"Cake has eggs in it," they say. "How can you eat a cake and not have a reaction if you're allergic to eggs? That impossible."
I beg to differ.
In the process of making a cake, something magical happens. The eggs become transformed into something that is so not eggs. I mean, cut into a moist chocolate cake, and pardon me, but you won't see anything that is remotely like an egg in there. Not a boiled egg, nor a fried egg, not even an egg-in-the-hole. I know my eggs. Trust me.
I ate eggs for years and years, and then one day, the medical community decided to test out a new flu vaccine that was cultured in some sort of egg base. In the early trials, they must not have got the whole vaccine gig right, because I was one of the first to try this little prick in the arm, and ever since then, I can't eat eggs. If I do, I get flu-like symptoms. Slip me an egg today, and tomorrow, I'll be crawling to the couch to either sleep or watch Judge Judy on the TV all day ... same thing, really.
I must admit that I do miss eggs. I miss mushing toast in the yolk and gobbling down long dripping hunks of yellow snot-like liquid. Oh, that's not a very pleasant image, I know, and I hope you're not eating your breakfast while you read this. Really, though, the consistency of eggs must seem familiar to you. I guess that's why some people like their eggs well cooked, "over hard" or whatever the phrase is.
I suppose I could try Egg Beaters, since that nifty little product claims to eliminate the yolk from the whole egg. You just get the whites and a bunch of emulsifiers like Xantham gum and guar gum. I have no idea what Xantham or guar gum are, but I'm certain I'm allergic to those as well. Anyway, what's an egg without the yolk?
I can eat Eggo toaster waffles, but I don't think those are anywhere near the same food group. I doubt very much that they have any egg in them at all. I'm afraid to read the list of ingredients. I suspect that they may contain a frightening amount of chemicals, pesticides, dyes and who knows what else. Google at your own risk.
No, I'm afraid I have to live my life eggless in America. Sure, it's a tough road to follow, and many people share my plight. There's not much you can do, short of ordering a tumbler of Benadryl with your omelette, but there are support groups, such as Folks Against Yolks, for people who crave egg salad sandwiches and the like. These groups have the usual twelve step program to get you off shell cracking for good, and for most people, the program is quite successful. I tried the to do the twelve steps, but I only made it to the the ninth. I couldn't bring myself to making amends with the chickens of the world. Going to an egg farm and apologising to those flightless feathered fowls was just too much for me. You see, although I am allergic to eggs, I am not allergic or in any way adverse to watching those oversized cockerels turning slowly over a hot grill and landing on my plate for dinner. While admitting that, I must also say that I love the dark meat and the white meat with an equal passion, political posturing be damned.
So I live and I suffer my sacrifice quietly, scrambling for excuses when a big fat guy hands me a glass of eggnog on Christmas day, poaching around the salad bar at the Hometown Buffet and looking for the potato salad that doesn't have flecks of yellow in it, coddling those intent on testing my resolve, boiling with self-loathing should I give in to the serpentine temptation of a devilled egg at a summer picnic. In fact, I am truly like a monk cloistered away from the oviparous world of egg eaters. Yes, like a saint almost. Who knows? Maybe someday they'll canonize me. Give me a cool title, like Saint Eggs-Benedict.
Whoops. I shouldn't make religious jokes. I'm not sure so sure about God's sense of humour anymore, not since he thought flooding the world might be amusing. So, yes, I apologise, but you see, some bacon-fried beast from Hell just keeps egging me on.
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