omelette du jour.

We’re always on the prowl for new discoveries at farmers’ market. Last week, Peter Schaner of Schaner Family Farms offered David an emu egg.

Jackpot.

David, of course, couldn’t say no to the exotic, aquamarine beauty.Yella and I were in awe. Have you ever seen one? The egg has a prehistoric quality, as if plucked from the land before time. It resembles the size and weight of an ostrich egg, but its color is the most striking blue—the turquoise of deep, tropical waters. One emu egg is roughly equivalent to nine chicken eggs, or about seventy-five quail eggs. Needless to say, it’s a big sucker.

After marveling at our new, mystical booty, and debating the varying methods of entry at length, we decided to display it on the kitchen countertop until we were ready. It remained there for two days. On Friday morning, it was decided.

We would be having baby emu for lunch.

After a quick trip to the ninety-nine cent store for a turkey baster, we met Joe, our fellow food-adventurer, at our apartment. In exchange for lunch, Joe had happily agreed to provide all the necessary power tools the operation would require. In order to preserve the precious shell, David drilled a small hole into the bottom of the egg, and we all took turns sucking out the semifluid matter with the baster. When that wasn't enough, we madly shook the egg like hungry lunatics. The goop made all kinds of questionable sounds as it squished and gurgled its way out. It took a while, but we eventually had an empty shell, and a bowl of glop—or soon-to-be omelette du jour.

Now, the only cooking guidance given to David at market was that once whipped, this egg would be fluffy. Real fluffy. So we added a bit of cream, a pinch of salt, whipped it all together, and into the iron skillet it went. We anxiously waited for the eggs to set before sprinkling bits of thyme over the top, and browning it in the broiler for a nice, crusty finish. David turned out the omelette onto a plate, and served it up in slices, like pie. We ate it with braised greens and purple cabbage, topped with shavings of Beaufort—a hard, cow's milk cheese made in the Alps mountains of France.

It looked delicious.

But would the baby emu taste as good as it looked? 

Or like dinosaur muck?

We all took a bite. The texture resembled something between a soufflé and quiche, like yellow velvet, scrambled egg pudding. It was smooth and ethereal, airier than your standard chicken egg omelette. I would even compare it to tortilla española, but more delicate, and no potatoes or onions—only emu. The flavor had a strange and mysterious sweetness to it that brought tamago to mind, a japanese omelette that is both sweet and savory at once. While delighting in the special lunchtime treat, we pondered other possible creations…
Would an emu soufflé puff up to unimaginable heights? Could this be the perfect egg for soft, ballooning clouds of angel food cake? If we found an absurdly large skillet, we could fry the whole thing! Gigantic, jumbo, sunny-side up style.

Later, at work, someone asked me what I had for lunch.

With a smirk I replied,

emu.