Have Blade Will Travel: The adventures of a traveling chef Read Free

the motion you needed, the rapid stirring, to create the soft, paper-thin egg ribbons.  Within thirty seconds or so, the water began boiling again, and I observed carefully.  Where were the ribbons?  All I saw were egg blobs, bobbing up and down in the boiling water.  Of course I realized immediately that what it needed was more eggs.  I cracked another egg, dropped it in, and stirred rapidly.  Back to a boil.  Now there were twice as many egg blobs bobbing around in the boiling water.  I cracked another, then stirred again.  More egg blobs.  Cracked another.  Stir like crazy.  More blobs.  Another egg, and another, and another, until…no more eggs.  It’s got to be the eggs.  It needs more eggs! 
    A bit frantic now, I climbed down from the chair and pulled another dozen eggs from the refrigerator and returned to the range – where a huge bobbing mass of egg blobs quivered atop the boiling water.  Just a few more eggs, and I would have my Egg Drop Soup for sure.  I was poised to drop the thirteenth egg into the mass when I heard my mother’s steps coming up the back stairs.  Uh-oh.  She walked into the kitchen, and I smiled a hopeful smile, wondering frantically what I would say when she discovered my unfinished creation. 
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “I’m making Egg Drop Soup ,” I told her.
    She leaned over and peered into the pot, considering the contents.  Rather gently, as I recall, she inquired, “ Egg Drop Soup ? That’s Egg Drop Soup ? What made you think you could make Egg Drop Soup ?”
    “From Ho King’s the other night,” I reminded her.  “Don’t you remember?  I had it for dinner.  I knew I could make it myself.  It’s easy.”
    She seemed amused, or perhaps it was more like bemused… in spite of herself. “Well, you’ve made quite an effort.  But that’s not exactly Egg Drop Soup.  It looks more like a whole lot of boiled eggs.”
    “I know,” I defended.  “But it isn’t done yet.  It needs more eggs.”  Oops. The smile disappeared. 
    “No, it doesn’t need more eggs.  You’ve made a valiant try, but I’m sorry young man, that is never going to be Egg Drop Soup .”
    “Oh.  You’re probably right,” I replied, my enthusiasm somewhat deflated.  “What should I do with it now?”
    “Well, for one thing you’re not going to throw away,” she affirmed.  She looked down at the brew.  “How many eggs did you use?”
    “Um… one box.”
    “My God.  There are a dozen eggs in there?!?”  She rolled her eyes in a way I had never seen before.
    “Um.  Yeah.  About a dozen.” 
    “Boy, I hope you like Egg Salad, because you’re going to be eating it for a while.”
    “Oh...um...no problem mom,” I declared.  “That’s great.  I love egg salad.  Especially Egg Drop Soup Egg Salad.  Actually, it’s my favorite.”
    Years later, I realized that I had probably been spared serious punishment.  I also realized that my experiment was an effort to understand a lifelong interest in food – and I speculated that I had been a culinary practitioner in a previous life.  Accordingly, unresolved issues in that life were carried into this one, bringing with them an intense interest in, and attraction to everything of a gastronomic nature.  In this scenario the ego insists on nothing less than the reincarnated spirit of Antoine Beauvillier, Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, Curnonsky, Dunand, Li Yü, or some other ancient gastronome of note.  But in truth, if that had been the case, there would be little to resolve in this life.  For Beauvillier, Brillet-Savarin, Curnonsky, Dunand and Li Yü were among a handful of notable gourmets, restaurateurs, and food writers who had made significant contributions to their craft during their lifetime.
    But for my Theory of Reincarnation to work in this particular case, I would have had to have been involved in the preparation of food in some way during a past life, but without completing a