Sunday, 19 August 2012
When I was a child, we called eggs 'googie eggs'. According to the Australian National University, the term comes from the Scottish 'goggie' which is a child's word for egg. Whatever its origins, one thing is certain - when I ate googie eggs as a child, they were something else. They were intense in flavour, with a yolk as gold as sun - and fat and plentiful, too.
Ella has been at me for some time to get some chickens for the backyard, but seeing as though I recently killed a very hardy pot plant through neglect, now is not the time to introduce a hen house to the family, as much as I'd love to.
That doesn't stop me from vicariously enjoying and envying the hen houses of others, and my dear friend Jennie McClelland of Posie fame fulfills my every need when it comes to vicarious living - even down to the delivery of her own hen's eggs, snug in an egg carton tied with ribbon and topped with a cock's comb bloom.
I squawked like a chook when Jennie handed me this fragile bundle - and like all things au naturelle, the googies inside this package are variant, 'imperfect' and absolutely and utterly beautiful.
Jennie had even hand-dated them so we can take advantage of their fullest freshness, though I suspect these eggs won't even see the day out - we plan to use them up this very afternoon; and will keep you posted on what we create.
Thank you, Jennie. Your poultrific treasures are welcome in our fold any time.