When Cody and I moved across the driveway of our first apartment into the one next door there was a morning where the food was in one apartment and the dishes were at the other. I was eight months pregnant and still vomiting quite regularly. I needed to eat within a half hour of waking up or my vomiting would get even worse.
On this particular morning Cody woke me up and took me to IHOP immediately to feed me. I ordered some sort of pancake or french toast with no frills and Cody ordered some enormous plate of meat, cheese and eggs. My breakfast came with eggs also, but the very thought of eating an egg, even ordering an egg made me ill. Cody ordered for me and had my eggs poached so that he could eat them himself.
Now if you’ve been to IHOP then you’re probably aware of the syrup caddy on the table, four different kinds of syrup for your enjoyment. When Cody got the poached eggs he picked up a syrup bottle, poured in ON THE EGGS and stirred them into a lumpy yolky syrup soup which he ate with a spoon.
B. When your wife is still violently ill eight months pregnant and dry heaves at the thought of cantaloupe, THIS IS EVEN MORE GROSS.
Thus began the great egg/syrup debate of the moosh family. I cannot, CANNOT, let syrup touch my eggs. Cody pours it on his eggs. My in laws don’t mind if eggs and syrup touch and I have a friend who won’t even eat them in the same meal.
So who’s the majority? Who’s the minority?
Eggs and syrup are one edible issue I have strong opinions on.
That and vegetables masquerading as dessert (I’m looking at you sweet potatoes.). But that’s an entirely different post.