Chez Spud

Nothing says ‘I live in the country’ quite like eggs with chicken poo/random bits of straw and muck all over them. Here’s a clutch of beauties, laid yesterday, by our neighbours’ very handsome hens. I marvelled at how different the eggs were in size and colour, some speckled, some the most delicate shade of blue. It’s a very different experience from shop bought eggs, all shiny and uniform, clean and neatly date stamped.

That said, I was surprisingly squeamish when Bertie ran up to me and pressed one of the eggs that he’d gathered in to my hand because, silent scream, it was still warm. Somehow it felt too intimate, and kind of cruel in a way…to deprive the broody chuck of the joy of perching on her egg even though, of course, it was never going to amount to anything anyway. It’s all very well aspiring to buy your meat/dairy products etc from a known source..but having it delivered to you hand whilst it’s still warm is quite a bizarre experience. It never bothered me as a child, when my grandfather would bring milk (still warm) after milking the cows and eggs (warm and covered in stuff) for breakfast. That’s adults for you though, always overthinking things.

In theory I like knowing where my food comes from, especially meat, although I’m far from evangelical about it. The lazy part of my nature means I’m never organised enough with shopping to have a ready supply of locally sourced produce. There’s NO EXCUSE though as there are plenty of fabulous local suppliers, even doorstep delivery, and no end of farm shops and all that stuff. If I were more of a foodie I’m sure I could be passionate about it but, in the end, food is mostly just fuel to me. It’s just the stuff that I shovel in to keep me going.

That said, I think there are stirrings of more of an interest in ‘food miles’ in me. Not quite sure why although rising oil prices have at least a little to do with it. Always the way isn’t it?  It’s only when it really, really starts to hit the pocket that you finally get interested. When I say ‘you’ I mean ‘me’, obviously. Plus MrSpud is in the early stages of planning a vegetable garden which, in theory, reduces many of our food miles to a quick shamble out of the back door. Add in some chucks, and me getting over (a) my fear of chucks and (b) my squeamishness, and it’s looking pretty good. Once I’ve persuaded the boys to give up meat for pulses, beans, tofu etc then we’ll really be making some progress. We all need to eat less meat and more pulses, for all the planet and health related issues we all know about. The reality of encouraging small children to delight in beans in something else however…

It’s all just the kernel of a thought to be honest, I’m just thinking it through whilst writing it down. All brought about by one warm egg in my hand and my girlish reaction to it. Also, Diggy was at home with me today while Bertie was at school. Much to my surprise he had a 2 hour nap and I had enough time on my hands to make myself a frittata for lunch, photograph the eggs, think about the eggs, think about ‘that’ warm’ egg and then I was off…my mind was a wondering and a wandering.

Just one egg. That’s all it took.

If you liked that, you might like this ...

• Easter in pictures
• The Gallery: Food