Whites so firm they half meringue without the mixmaster.
A taste so complex yet simple, you have to be there. Sponges so light they practically float off the plate. Creamy, scrambled eggs and cakes with an extra dimension of deliciousness.
Yep, I'm talking about home-grown eggs. Or should i say home-harvested?
I know I'm biased but the people whom I pass on some of my extra cackleberries say the same.
My flock of five girls (Hilda, Layne, Gidget, Ledger and Laura) average four to five eggs a day and they reflect their mostly free-range lifestyle. I let them out ta dawn and shut them back up around 7.30am before i head off to work.
Arriving home around 5.45pm, they are again released to wander across the lawn and encouraged to turn over land which will be another veggie bed come the weekend.
They are fed lots of food scraps, oodles of fresh greens and have access to clean, cool water on top of their usual pellets. They are loved and have their own fox-proof hutch and fully enclosed run my friends refer to as Cluckingham Palace. And they are so worth it.
Hilda and her posse are a wonderful mixture of bug-eaters, fertilisers and magic producers. I says magic because their eggs are fantastic.
Nothing beats your own eggs and my feather riot, rescue chooks all, are up there with the best.
If you have room and you don't need much, consider getting a couple of hens and you'll be amazed at how your cooking and your garden is transformed.