Grocery shopping: Egg Edition – The Burning Question

I just came across this 4 month old article on a sidebar from something I was reading.

Why American Eggs Would Be Illegal In A British Uruguayan Supermarket, And Vice Versa – Forbes. (my title modification)

It answers, in probably more detail than you wanted (chicken feces! liquid membranes!) one of my burning questions when I first started living here – Why the heck are the eggs just sitting out warm in the middle of the store?

And it’s variant at the weekly outdoor feria, “People actually buy eggs that are sitting out in a vendor’s booth loose all day in the hot sun, and take them home wrapped in newspaper?”

Yes. They do. I am now one of those people. Every week or so, I go see the Egg Man, and come home with 12 or 15 wrapped up in an old El Pais or La República. When I get them home, yes I put them in the refrigerator, but that is mostly just old americano habit. They go in as-is, the occasional chicken feces and all.

The idea is, you wash the egg off just before cracking it if you’re cooking an omelet, fried eggs, egg drop soup, or as an ingredient. And definitely wash them before boiling them, because there is always one wiseguy who cracks under pressure and I don’t want that self-selected breakfast egg getting a bath of that, even at 100C.

Yummy eggs. Think I’ll go boil me a batch to have some for breakfast or an egg salad sandwich. Got a newspaper wrap of a bunch of them right here.

Coconut and Electricity

Since moving to Uruguay, I developed an unexplained passion for cooking with coconut. It’s not that coconut is necessarily a national Uruguayan dish. It’s just that coconut milk and chopped coconut is easily available, wherever you go. Behold! My pollo milanese topped with strawberries, shrimp coconut and balsamic vinegar:

Milanese with Strawberries, Shrimp, Coconut, and Balsamic Vinegar
Milanese With Strawberries, Shrimp, Coconut and Balsamic Vinegar

As this is a coastal town, seafood is easily available, at highly affordable prices. On Friday evening, our little town was experiencing one of those Dixie-like storms, the kind that reminded me of our year in Raleigh, North Carolina. Powerful and dramatic, the thunders out loud and clear, like a Sunday morning hymn in a gospel church.

I love this type of storm, even though the sound of thunder scares the living daylights out of me, unlike the non-stop whimpering of the rain in the Pacific Northwest, which goes on and on and on, like the girl who never stops moaning over her unrequited love. But I digress.

Deciding that this was a perfect night for seafood and coconut soup, I opened one bottle on coconut milk, and poured its contents into the pot. Halfway through opening the second bottle, the sound of a rather expressive thunder-boomer sent reverberations through my body, causing a fountain of coconut to spray into my face with the force of the water that sprays out of the Uruguayan bidets.

So here I am with coconut milk all over my face (I know what you’re thinking, but don’t go there!) Continue reading Coconut and Electricity