We are all a victim or beneficiary of the environment that we grew up in. The habits that make you who you are, mostly began during your childhood. They define your personality and set you apart from others around you. A lot of these practices came from our parents. We acquired them over a period of years and they became deeply ingrained.
My Dad dipped his eggs. Breakfast eggs only came one way at our house, fried and sunny-side up. They were served with toast or biscuits which was buttered and used as an instrument to dip the yolk out of the egg. Dipping, becomes a work of art. It is done is such a fashion so that the yolk disappears before the white is eaten. At our house the egg came to you salted, peppered and with the yolk starring right at you. If you are a dipper, it’s how the meal begins. Once armed with your choice of bread, as a dipper, it is your responsibility to destroy the yolk with the bread by sopping it up while eating. Many were the days, I would get to my desk at school only to notice egg yolk on my finger nails.
The art of dipping one’s fried eggs falls into the category of participatory dining. Once the bread is picked up, all bets are off in the etiquette department. It comes very close to eating a meal without utensils. If you happen to be in the company of someone who has never seen a fried egg consumed in this manner, it is amusing to watch their reaction. Some people handle the situation by ignoring the act. Others watch in amazement, while others feel it necessary to comment. The comments most generally are of the nature of an inquiry of the habit. Things like “that is interesting, where did you learn to do that?”
Being a dipper since I met my first egg, I was not aware there was another way to eat breakfast. I don’t think I had the opportunity to exhibit my egg eating skills in public, until my first year at Church Camp. While standing in line, we were presented with the choice of eggs prepared in different ways. Naturally , sunny-side up was my selection. Once seated at the park bench like tables, I began my meal consumption by dipping. Seated directly across the table from me was a young lady from another Church in our district. It became readily apparent that dipping was not in fashion at her house. As matter of fact, I don’t think dipping was a practice in her whole town. After my second pass at my egg yolks, I noticed that she appeared to quit breathing and was turning red. Concerned for her safety, I inquired as to her well being. She grunted something alluding to my crude behavior, grabbed her breakfast tray, and disappeared to the other side of the dining room. Barely aware that dipping my eggs was a spectacle to her, I resumed breakfast. Only later did I realize her flashpoint was when my buddy exclaimed “I ain’t never seen anybody eat an egg like that, it was cool”. I was not sure if I should be proud or embarrassed. Every one in my family ate their eggs like that. This did not cause a problem with the young lady and I any longer, because she kept her distance from me for the rest of the week.
On the long bus ride home I had time to ponder my breakfast performance. I was twelve years old and starting to get out in the world. I had always been particular about my appearance and my public presentation. This interaction with members of the opposite sex was not going to be easy. If I was going to have to worry how I ate my breakfast in public, it was going to be a harder process than I thought. It occurred to me that I was going to have to decide if some inherent traits were going to have to be discarded. After several weeks of inner reflection and the pull of years of practice, I decided to remain a dipper. And after having the responsibility of raising my own children, I am proud to report, they are dippers too.
