23rd October, 2009 - Omelettes

The third of my disappointments is my absolute inability to make omelettes. This is an odd thing to be disappointed about. It is not really up there with "Failing to ensure world peace" or "Not Curing Cancer". But it really rankles.

I am no Jamie Oliver (I don't dribble as much as he does) but I am not too bad in the kitchen. I have spent a bit of time living alone in my adult life (I blame the chronic foot odour), and I have always been able to rustle up a decent dinner. I can even bake. Scones and pancakes hold no fears for me. I do a mean chocolate mousse. But the humble omelette... well... it is a mystery to me.

My mate the couch Potato always makes me an omelette for the meal that he loosely terms “breakfast” during our visits to Crieff each year. It is called “breakfast” because it is the first meal of the day, but it is usually taken at around 4pm, just as the sting of the Saturday hangover is beginning to wear off.

CP makes it look easy: light, fluffy, nicely seasoned. My omelettes are pale yellow blobs of undercooked mush. No matter how many times I try it, they are disastrous. In the world of the omelette the Couch Potato is king.