Finding Comfort Through Comfort Food: Scrambled Eggs, Buttered Toast, and a Cup of Tea

It was a dark, rainy, and dreary day.  It was the kind of day made perfect for relaxing on the sofa with a good book, a steaming hot cup of tea, and the therapeutic sound of nature’s sound machine as rain drops pitter pattered against the window pane.  A pair of sinfully comfy PJ’s, big, fluffy slippers with cute animal faces on them that you’d NEVER want anyone to catch you in, and a nice snuggly blanket make up the mandatory dress code for a day such as this. Unfortunately, it was also Monday.  So, instead of luxuriating the day away on my sofa, surrounded in comfort, I went to work…against my better judgment.

It was DEFINITELY a Monday.  It was one of those Monday’s that I wish I could’ve grabbed a remote control and either fast forwarded through it, or pushed rewind and started it all over.  Unfortunately, I possess no such gadget with that kind of power, so I was forced to stumble my way through the day (literally).  I didn’t feel well when I woke up yesterday morning, which is the reason I considered calling in sick.  But, I decided to press my way and went on in.  Upon arrival, my day went something like this:  spill hot, apple cider all over my desk; drop a large, jarred candle on the floor while cleaning up the cider; clean up glass from the candle; fix the copier; see what’s wrong with the printer; spill MORE  cider all over my desk; clean cider (and die of thirst because I was afraid to get anything else to drink); trip over the file cabinet; get mud in my shoes after my heels sank in the ground; and the list went on and on. Needless to say, I was anxious to get back home and the comforts it offered.

Strangely enough, throughout the day only one comforting meal came to mind: scrambled eggs, buttered toast (margarine actually), and a cup of tea.  I found this odd considering how many comfort foods there actually are that I could’ve desired and reached for:  warm, rice pudding; cheese filled croissants drenched in homemade strawberry preserves; dangerously rich, homemade chocolate truffles; gooey baked mac and cheese made with seven cheeses; potatoes whipped with cream cheese, kissed with garlic, and sprinkled with chives; chicken and the world’s most perfect, PERFECT dumplings (MAJOR shout out and a hint-hint, wink-wink to my Mom); a trio of sautéed mushrooms and onions with a touch of sherry, cream sauce. And this doesn’t even scratch the surface on foods I consider comfort foods.  So, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of tea may seem like an odd meal of choice to combat the type of day I had yesterday.  But, I’m not talking about your average, willy nilly, run of the mill scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of tea.  I’m talking about my mom’s!  This woman is a magician! I don’t know what in the world it is that she did/does to take such humble ingredients and elevate them to a level that royalty would appreciate, but she does it. 

I was rather sickly growing up, or as my siblings put it, “Something was always wrong with you.” LOL I was served this meal of scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of tea quite regularly.  I’d be in bed and the smell of that simple, yet delectable meal cooking away always warmed my heart and soothed my soul.  That smell emanating from the kitchen was a way of letting me know that love, in the form of my mom, and nourishment, in the form of the food was on the way.  That smell made me know that no matter what was wrong, no matter how badly I felt, I would be OK.  It was pure comfort.  I would get so excited when I heard the tea cup clinking against the saucer as my mom made her way up the hall to my room.  She would bring the meal on a pretty, little bed tray (with the napkin folded into the perfect point), sit beside me, put her arm around me, and pinch my cheeks.  Till this very day, a cheek pinch from her makes me feel like I’m the best girl in the world, and I grin like a Cheshire cat.

That meal was always the same:  perfect. The toast (cut into perfect toast points) was always toasted perfectly with just the right amount of butter on it so that it was still crisp, but had a slight softness to it as well.  And, she never buttered the part where I picked it up with my fingers.  I’m not sure if she did that purposefully or if was a stroke of genius done by accident. I loved knowing I wouldn’t have greasy fingers after eating my toast. The tea was brewed to the precise strength I liked, perfectly sweetened, and served boiling hot.  She and I share an affinity for scalding hot, hot drinks.  My dad STILL remarks that you can’t drink anything that hot, but we’ve always managed.  J The pièce de résistance were those glorious scrambled eggs:  flavorful, fluffy, creamy, buttery love on a plate. It was always such a comfort to me.  It still is.  I’ve tried to duplicate it, but just can’t.  There’s an expression people say of a cook when they’ve made something that tastes REALLY good:  “They put their foot in it.”  My mommy must’ve put both of her feet into her scrambled eggs, because I have no idea what makes them taste so good, and NOBODY'S scrambled eggs can touch hers.

I sure wish I could've had scrambled eggs, toast, and a cup of tea when I got home on Monday evening.  But, just thinking about it did the trick to help snap me out of my Monday blues.  For our New Year's Eve celebration this year, my family's decided to do a comfort food theme instead of a fancy dinner.  My mom’s already promised me her amazing chicken and dumplings, but I wonder if I can weedle some scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of tea out of her too.  Hmm…. J