Perfecting the omelet, Part 3: Success.

And so, after weeks of scrambling and sliding and flipping and spilling and cursing and eating, I've accomplished the perfect omelet -- at least in my eyes. Go ahead and argue what exactly makes a perfect omelet, but to me, it's a load of cheeses and goodies wrapped snugly in a bright blanket of perfectly cooked egg. Gooey, melty cheese pairs with crisp, slightly cooked vegetables and flavorful meats, with a layer of soft yet firm egg gently folded over them. But really, I suppose what it all comes down to is the perfect fold.

This post actually comes in two parts. The first part reflects on the night of that first perfect fold...

It was a random weeknight, a night of no cooking, a night I wasn't even that hungry, if you can believe that. For dinner I had tuna salad with crackers and a poached egg over field greens. Murdo wanted an omelet so, since I needed the practice, I made one for him. I had no idea this omelet was to be the one.

I used the usual fillings that are always in the fridge: onions, green peppers, pastrami, and cheese. Cooked the fillings beforehand, set aside, cooked the eggs, placed the goodies on one half of the pan and, slowly, slid the egg off the pan and onto a plate. At the last minute -- flip.

The omelet folded over perfectly.

I literally yelped (by "yelp" I mean gasped and squealed at the same time) and Murdo, who was in the kitchen with me, turned to see what on earth would cause me to make such a noise. I had just made the perfect omelet.



Honestly, I never knew an omelet could make me squeal and jump for joy. Who knew a girl could love eggs so damn much?

The second part of this post is told through pictures. On Sunday morning at Mom and Dad's house, I showed off my new skills and made omelets for my parents:





This last omelet was the third one I made and not-so-perfect at all. Taught me a lesson: When making many omelets, wipe the pan clean after each omelet, then add more butter. I didn't wipe and just added more butter each time, so by the time I got to the third, it started sticking to the cooked remnants on the skillet and the egg tore. I was devastated for about 45 seconds.

And then I ate the omelet, and all was well with the world.