Sixteen years and seven homes in, my husband Mike’s fried eggs are a constant in our life—even, and especially, when life gets harder.
His eggs morph to fill out any half-formed meal idea or jumble of leftovers to become breakfast, lunch, and, most often, very late-night dinner. I’ve dissected what I think makes them so good to so many friends that eventually they became Mike’s Famous Fried Eggs. It was usually an internal struggle, but in one especially low moment during a BLT phase, I watched Mike put the bacon into the skillet without cutting it in half first—my favorite way to rotate the strips so the edges wouldn’t burn before the middles crisped. So I found myself pulling the already-melting pieces of bacon out of the pan, cleaving them in half, and then slipping them back in. And then realizingThe bacon would have been fine.
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