After a picturesque story of the first time she tried a French Omelette, Julia delves into a lengthy examination of the perfect omelette pan. The perfect Omelette pan is 7- 7 1/2 inches. Nothing else will do. Next, what material is your pan made out of? The hell. If I. Know.
I do know that the only pan in my kitchen that fits those measurements is a worn-out veteran. It has definitely seen better days. In the center, you can see the impression of two soy sausage patties long ago devoured. The teflon coating is flaking off around the corners. Still, this ole boy is my only chance at omelette perfection.
Julia says turn the stove on high and stick the butter in the pan. I turn the stove on high and start cracking and beating the eggs. After about a minute or so, I see ole boy is starting to smoke. Shit. Forgot the butter.
In goes the butter, but after 10 seconds have passed, it has gone from melting, to foaming, to browning, to... what is that rusty color? Butter doesn't turn red. I give the pan a swirl. Yup, that's the uncoated surfaces of the pan rusting into my butter. Out goes the butter. I wipe the pan down with olive oil as instructed.
Damn, didn't even get to add the egg.
Round Two: This time, I add the butter before the heat and things turn out alright. I avoid butter-rust and turn out a decent looking mess of egg. It may not look pretty, but it is fluffy and delicious. After eating it, I try to clean up the egg I spilled all over the stove.
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Round Three (One day later): Butter-rust again. Curses. AND I didn't notice it until after I added the egg. That's 2 would-be chickens sacrificed to the almighty JC. (But at least the omelette looked fluffy!)
Round Four: Moderate success. One bit was not entirely cooked. And I have a metallic taste in my mouth. But other than that, fluffy, buttery deliciousness.
PS: I found a different pan without exposed iron. That means it's time for round five. I'm going to be eating eggs for a week.
