I'm not sure how central a role eggs play in your life. For me, they're utterly essential. I'm not just talking about how eggs for dinner are a lifesaver in a pinch, or the fact that an egg topper on salads and grain bowls magics them into meals, or that egg yolks make as fine a dressing base as they do pasta sauce. I mean that egg cookery is so central to my weekly sustenance that I will actually tailor it to different emotional states. Let me explain.
A sunny side-up egg — made by cracking eggs into an oiled pan, covering and letting them cook till just set — can lay the framework for a generally optimistic day. This holds true both because the eggs look cheerful on the plate and the act of dabbing toast corners into the yolks is a delightful, satisfying activity. Therefore, I prefer to serve them with buttered toast points on gloomy mornings when nothing seems to be going right. If I accidentally puncture the yolk while cracking them or otherwise screw them up, I can thunder around and complain bitterly about the unfairness of it all. (So in effect, nothing about my s**tty day has changed.) On the other hand, if I get them just right, things tend to look up after breakfast.
