
I developed a liking for eggs when I was in school, probably in middle grade. My mother would occasionally pack a couple of hard-boiled eggs in my tiffin and half a dozen of them for my school picnics. She’d cut them into two halves, sprinkle salt and pepper, and place them in a red-topped lunch box together with slices of white bread. The eggs were often accompanied by a banana. I never asked my mother why she gave me so many. I’m guessing she knew a thing or two about their nutritional value, in which case I grew up better for it.
I learnt how to make eggs in my late teens, though rarely to perfection. I made them boiled, fried and scrambled. I found boiling an egg particularly tricky. It’d either crack open within minutes or remain half-boiled, the yolk still soft and oozy, leaving me with a choice of either scooping it up with a spoon or tossing it into the dustbin. It was a while before I realised the downside of boiling a refrigerated egg on a high flame. Timing and temperature was everything, not to mention patience. But eggs were my go-to meal whenever I was hungry or alone at home, and also because they were easier to make and I didn’t know to cook much else.
Omelettes came later, somewhere in my twenties. While I made a decent egg omelette, I’ve always had a problem flipping it perfectly. A broken omelette looks messy on a plate; and worse, if it’s undercooked and the yolk is runny which is not how I like my yolk in the first place.

I'm glad you got the hang of making omelets, Prashant. They can be tricky! My 12-year-old granddaughter is just now learning how to make eggs in different ways, and I think the skill will serve her well.