There’s an egg in my kitchen

Home » Uncategorized

There’s an egg in my kitchen

Submitted by on Sunday, 6 December 2009 No Comment

A dear friend who’s never had to deal with food allergies laughed at me when I evicted all eggs and egg products from our house after Big Guy’s bout with anaphylaxis five and a half years ago.

“What do you think he’s going to do?” he scoffed. “Climb in the refrigerator and suck an egg?”

No, but at the time there were too many people in and out of our house who didn’t understand the seriousness of his allergy and whom couldn’t be counted on to take precautions to avoid contaminating his food. Not to mention the issue of accidental ingestion should what looked like a tasty morsel be left lying within the ever-expanding grasp of a 10-month old.

He was just a baby. He couldn’t protect himself, and the only way I could do that for him was to keep the dangerous items out of the house.

He’s not a baby anymore. He knows what he can eat and what he can’t – he’s been able to recite his list of allergens since he was 2, he can spell all of them now and I’ve seen him turn down cake twice in the past two weeks when it was offered. He’s become slowly less sensitive to egg – though he’s still allergic – and he’s never reacted from cooking aromas.

I paved the way for eggs this fall when I started buying pork bacon again – I’m allergic to it – after Big Guy fell in love with it. He’s seen me cook it and then immediately clean the pan, the fork, the plates, the microwave and the counter.

We took eggs on a test drive when we were staying in an eggy house over Thanksgiving and I cooked Boots one for breakfast while Big Guy slept. Big Guy, of course, woke up as Boots ate and immediately had a conniption. “He can’t eat that. I’m allergic.”

Oh dear. I thought we had an agreement on that. It was time for remediation. “OK. Then I can’t cook you bacon anymore because I’m allergic.”

“OK. I guess he can have it.”

Big Guy watched as Boots ate, and then he watched as I cleaned the table, the plate, the skillet, the utensils and the stove. He nodded his satisfaction.

Boots wanted egg again the next morning and the next. I was thrilled to see him gobble a source of protein that wasn’t lunch meat or a hot dog.

So when I went grocery shopping after we got home, I bought my first dozen in years.

I don’t plan on Eggs Benedict for dinner or sunny-side up for breakfast – I’m simply not going to cook two different meals. But if Boots wants an egg for lunch when Big Guy’s still at school, they’re waiting for him.