Can't Make An Omelette Without Breaking Eggs Novels & Stories

The renowned chef leaned back on the wall and scoffed internally as he saw her picking up the eggs from the fridge. She must be having a death wish! Who on earth cooks a simple omelette for a breakfast? Within just ten minutes, she returned with a perfectly fluffy and golden-brown vegetable omelet with the filling of cheese. The outside was crisp yet delicate, while the inside remained soft and juicy. It was filled with fresh vegetables, and the aroma was rich yet light enough for an early morning meal. Served on an elegant white porcelain plate with a drizzle of sauce, the presentation was flawless. She was quite content with her abilities.

I drizzled olive oil and a touch of butter on each slice, setting them in the pan to toast. “Now—eggs,” I declared. I filled a pot with water. “Temperature’s key. Just below boiling—no angry bubbles. Add vinegar so the whites stay together. And remember, you don’t drop the egg in like you’re punishing it. You cradle it. Gently. Like an intern.” “I don’t deal with interns,” he muttered, reaching for a random bottle. I turned in time to see him unscrewing a bottle of sesame oil. “Adrian!” I lunged and grabbed it from him. “That’s sesame oil. For stir-frying. Do you want our breakfast to taste like burnt regrets and bad decisions?”

AVA The sizzling of the eggs in the pan was the only sound in the kitchen as I stood at the stove, trying to keep my thoughts focused on breakfast. I had been up for hours, tossing and turning, my mind restless with everything that had happened with Liam. The mornings were the worst—when the quiet made it impossible to escape my own thoughts.

Not measuring anything exactly but somehow knowing how much to add. "Can I crack the eggs?" I asked. She glanced at me. "You remember how?" Of course I do. I’m not a child. "Yes." "Alright." She handed me an egg. "One at a time. Into this bowl." I took the egg and tapped it against the edge of the bowl the way she'd taught me before. Too soft. Nothing happened. I tried again, harder, and the shell cracked. I used my thumbs to pull it apart and the egg dropped into the bowl, mostly clean except for a small piece of shell.

“They just don’t have a lot of depth of flavor. It’s just…egg and salt. But if you add a pinch of dill, a sprinkle of marjoram—” She shakes ingredients I didn’t even know I had in my kitchen onto the pile of bright-yellow eggs, samples them, makes a face, and dumps the whole pile back into the pan. By the time my simple breakfast returns to me, it’s a crispy omelet with visible herbs poking up through the crust. The whole time, I can’t do anything but watch her. She’s so goddamn smart, so at ease in my kitchen wearing nothing but her panties and one of my T-shirts. I could spend the rest of my life letting her tell me what to do like this.

I can’t cook for the life of me but desperate moments call for desperate measures. Bringing out a pan, I start breaking eggs into a bowl. I put in all the ingredients I’ve seen Charles use and then pour it into the pan. The egg sticks to the pan and I realize I was supposed to put oil first. I groan, then snap my mouth shut when I remember everyone else is asleep. I try my best to savor what remains of the egg when I’m done. My only saving grace is that the eggs don’t taste half as bad when I eat them.

Eggs should always be a part of the diet because it's one of the simplest recipes to make that can turn into a plat du jour. She was so focused on flipping the eggs properly on the pan when she was unexpectedly wrapped with veiny arms. She nearly shouted due to electric shock but she forbear. "I'm cooking," she made it clear. She was attentive not to fail her omelet. It's a life and death matter for newbies like her. But Xander tightened his clutch on her waist and leaned his head on her nape. She realized then that there are maids with her, assisting her work. It was embarrassing and she could just cover her face internally.

“I’ll demonstrate first how to make a simple sunny side up egg.” Ana turned on the stove and placed a pan on it. “First, heat the pan, then add a little oil. This is optional so it won’t stick and will be easier to lift.” Ana sprayed something onto the pan. “Tap the shell against a hard surface, then crack it over the pan. I suggest starting with one egg to make it easier.” Ana picked up an egg, tapped it on the edge of the pan, and cracked it open with one hand. The egg landed right in the centre of the pan, the yolk formed a perfect circle.

Lilianna »»»◈««« Today, Mrs. Moore took me under her wing in the kitchen, beginning with the fundamentals: mastering the art of cooking sunny-side-up eggs. As she cracked the eggs into the sizzling skillet, her experienced hands' guided mine, teaching me the delicate balance between heat and timing to achieve the perfect golden yolks and tender whites. Standing boldly by the stove, I confidently cracked an egg, but in my eagerness, I applied too much force, resulting in a messy, smashed egg in my hand. The gooey mess dripped between my fingers. Quietly, I retreated to the sink, washed my hands, and returned to Mrs. Moore's side. Her exasperated sigh hung in the air, but I didn't let it deter

"Victor, why do you keep pulling these dirty tricks?" I was confused. "What do you mean?" She scoffed. "You said you wanted to break up, but I know you just wanted to let the whole company know that we're dating. Didn't I tell you that there's no need to make it public in case someone misunderstands?" I looked down at my wrist, which was turning red from her grasp. I suddenly felt exhausted. It always turned out like this. As soon as I complained even a little bit, I would be considered immature, sulking, and out of my mind.