Bachelor’s Omelet

The amount of butter that woman used goes a long way to explaining the name of this dish.


INGREDIENTS – 2 or 3 eggs, 2 oz. of butter, 1 teaspoonful of flour, 1/2 teacupful of milk.


I’d be surprised if any man who ate this omelet on a regular basis made it to marriageable age, with so much fat undoubtedly clogging up his arteries.

Not that I was wanting to give him any ideas about reverting back to single life or anything, but I needed to get my boyfriend out of bed to help me with the Saturday shopping.  I had made two attempts already, but a few grunts and a raised eyebrow were all I got in response.

In such circumstances, a woman doesn’t get mad.  She gets Mrs Beeton.

The ingredients and method are simple enough.  My boyfriend is strongly opposed to “meddling” with omelets (“I’m a guy of simple tastes.  I like it simple.  Give it to me simple”), so I merely added a laughably tiny quantity of onion and herbs as suggested once the mix was in the pan.

I confess to reducing the amount of butter to 20g rather than 50g – I just couldn’t bring myself to add more.  Even then, the amount I used was more than sufficient for the purpose.

I tried to flip it “dexterously” as Mrs Beeton advises, but it just made a “phwap” noise and puffily split in half, and continued joyfully cooking in a sea of bubbling butter.

I soon realised that this quantity makes a rather – or let me say extremely – large, fluffy omelet.  I lightly plopped it on a plate (carefully paper-towelling off as much of the butter as possible) and put on my brightest smile.

“Mrs Beeton’s got something for you!” I trilled as I entered the bedroom.

“Oh man,” he grumbled sleepily from somewhere under the covers.

“Just try a mouthful or two of this.  I’m sure you’ll love it!”

“You know, I love you and you’re really sweet, but you know I don’t like eating so early” (this was after 11am – I’m not sure where his “early” definition came from).

However, he opened his mouth like a sleepy bird and let me shove a bite in.  He ate it slowly, then fixed his eyes on me with a slightly perplexed expression.

“It’s nice, but what’s in it?  It tastes a bit weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nice, but it’s a bit fluffy.  Super fluffy.”

At that point, our two greediest cats came rushing over, sniffing the air and making their habitual “we’re starving” gaspy-meows.

As mentioned, my boyfriend is not the world’s greatest fan of breakfast anyway, so the pesky duo quickly became the delighted recipients of the remnants.

But at least I had achieved my objective – he lurched out of bed and stumbled out of the room in search of some strong coffee.

Actually getting him out of the house will require another trick or two, but that’s another story entirely.


Bachelor’s Omelet (Recipe 1462):


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