This week’s Fullcast contains multitudes. However, the most important part of Fullcast comes with Jason’s admission that he only really knows two ways to prepare eggs. This is easily his most Georgia trait, but also a golden opportunity to review what egg cooking method reveals what or who about the user.
Scrambled. Doesn’t actually like eggs and just wants to shovel the yellow protein-goo directly into the face-hole with maximum speed. Favorite choice of recently divorced men and firefighters, which may be redundant. Chefs prepare them with care over low heat, taking their time and working with the eggs constantly to prevent them from sticking. You blast them with insane heat for 90 seconds, and then scrape them off the pan like shredded bugs off a windshield, which is a way, way more metal way of doing it.
Hard-boiled. The hobo’s choice and most Old Man way of eating eggs. Eat a hard-boiled egg standing on a street corner west of the Mississippi and you are instantly a character from a Steinbeck novel. Congrats! You are seconds away from dying in a union brawl or being crushed by a tractor.
Baked eggs. No one does this, fuck off with baked eggs, baked eggs are the frozen airline stowaways of food, someone left one in a dish once and when they took it out they had to play like they did it on purpose. Seriously, fuck off baked eggs, just fuck all the way off.
Pickled eggs. The choice of someone who carries a buck knife everywhere and thinks that QT’s coffee is “too fancy.” If you actually make and regularly consume pickled eggs, there is a good chance you gently slap pit bulls in the mouth on meeting them. If you eat them out of gas stations, you are the pit bull.
Soft-boiled eggs. Another mistake someone called a method. Good if you enjoy the experience of eating the world’s most disturbing water balloons or ever wondered what eating a boiled testicle was like, but didn’t want to actually eat a boiled testicle. That last part might be inaccurate. If you’re curious about eating a cooked testicle, then you’re probably not the kind of person who goes halfway-in on anything.
Sunny Side Up. Only done to facilitate making a happy face with a pancake for the rest of the head, the eggs for the eyes, and bacon for the mouth. Respect if you do, this is an eternally cool thing to do at breakfast, especially if you eat it afterwards muttering “WHYYY? WHYYY BRING ME INTO THIS WORLD ONLY TO DEVOUR MEEEEEEE???”
Over Easy. What if you liked omelets, but wish they were smaller, and bled?
Over Medium, Over Hard. Ordered by the kind of person who doesn’t look at the menu and probably has nine modifiers on their Starbucks order. If you are trapped in a lifeboat where people are still somehow capable of making breakfast, and someone orders these, throw them over the side immediately. Offer them no help. They are a sociopath and will only destroy anyone’s chance of happiness besides their own in the end.
Poached. The jellyfish of eggs because they can be a pain in the ass, are mostly useless, but are still pretty to look at from a distance.
Fried. The ultimate despair egg. For when scrambling is too hard. The fried egg answers the bold question: What if I made eggs, but also wanted to make a shingle out of simple proteins? Have you ever burnt down an apartment while cooking drunk? Yes? Fried eggs. It was fried eggs.