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When Chicken Boy (Ben) initially uttered the words, ‘egg-fest,’ I had no idea what to expect and must admit that the first images to cross my mind were of Paul Newman’s egg eating challenge in movie Cool Hand Luke.
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To kick the event off, we began with a round of Ramos Gin fizzes and a sorrowful toast to the recently diseased chicken, Beulah. (I have been hesitant to mention the demise of Brooklyn Chicken Beulah it came at the end of last week when she was abducted by an unknown and unseen, though very hungry, animal. Though I have a fear of birds, I must say that had grown to admired Beulah and all her spunk and was disturbed by the news.) We did not linger for long though and were onto a bottle of sparkling wine that was so yeasty and exploding with the undeniable aroma of stinky blue cheese that it could have stood alone as a liquid cheese course.
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At this point, three hours had passed and it was time to get serious. Amber washed dishes as Evan prepared a mushroom souffle with a Brandy Sabayon and I assisted Ben with the task of making egg noodles. We didn't have a recipe, but that didn't stop us. With a pile of semolina, and egg yolks galor, we were two thirds of the way there.
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With the egg noodles waiting patiently to be boiled, we tip-toed out to the back so as not to discourage the sensitive souffle with our giddy and impatient laughter. We did not exit soon enough however, for in the end the souffle refused to perform its one and only duty, to rise.
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At this point - six hours and for courses into our fest- it was beginning to dawn on us what a successful endeavor our little egg fest had become. Though there was an abundance of food, and a slew of eggs, there was plenty of time and activity (cooking) between courses for us to reignite our appetites. With smiles on our faces we finished our last two courses, egg noodles with pesto and asparagus, and Sour Cherry Custard pie with Candied Bacon Ice Cream.
It is not often that you are able to escape the worries and troubles of the mundane world, but with the generosity and enthusiasm of our hosts and the donation of a great many fowl, our modest dinner party had turned into something greater than simply an observance of the egg and all its facets. Instead, it became a celebration of our shared zeal for the alchemy of the kitchen and its power to eclipse the temporal aspects of day-to-day living with the more wondrous material of life: the subtleties of good wine and drink, the phenomena of good food, and the fortune of good friends to share it all with.