I used to think eating runny eggs was akin to slurping up snot. I was disgusted at “birdies in a nest” and couldn’t stand the sight of a half-cooked yolk breaking open and spilling all over the bread. I wouldn’t touch it. I preferred my eggs as firm omelets or hard-boiled. And then I grew up.
Now, while I still like the occassional firm, over-stuffed, cheesy-veggie omelet, I eat all kinds of eggs. Over-easy, sunny-side-up, baked, poached, you name it. I’ve even eaten raw-egg mayonnaise. Haven’t started drinking raw egg yet, but, come on, what do you think my name is, Gaston? I’d even have to admit, I love, love the taste of a partially cooked egg yolk broken over a slice of buttered French bread. Give me that and a cup of smooth pea soup, and I could die happy.