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Just a Minute! Eggs..

A night out, a good old English fry-up to recover. What could possibly go wrong..? Our columnist 'Just a Minute' found out.

March is pintxo month' in San Antonio. Over 50 bars and cafés vying for position as the best supplier of tasty morsels in the town. For €2, including a caña or glass of wine, these delectable little treats (pintxos) are the imagination of the proprietors. Normally quiet during March, every Thursday the town is thronging, young and old townsfolk enjoying this annual romp.

Recently I was enjoying a small caña at the Putumayo café/bar in Cala Gracioneta. Rick, the owner, informed me that his band were going to play at a venue during the pintxa festivities. This was a handy date for most inhabitants of Ibiza as the following day was a bank holiday in the Balearics. I'd not have to worry about getting up for work in the morning, catch the band and could meander the side streets sampling selected savoury snacks.

Planning ahead I dropped into the local supermarket for breakfast provisions. Even though now settling into Spanish breakfast habits, there's still nothing better than a traditional fry-up after a night out. Sausages, bacon, beans, mushrooms, fried egg, toast, all washed down with a cup of tea. Wandering around a supermarket I picked up the necessary provisions including half a dozen large, free range eggs. I normally shop for all these items at small, privately owned stores. I believe it is important to support the independent trader and the produce is superior. However, on this occasion I was running late for work and so for once, and against my better nature, I popped into the supermarket on the outskirts of Ibiza town.

The night was a roaring success. Every bar was packed with revellers all having a great time and enjoying the various 'pinxtas' on offer. Starting at a bar on the Lower Bay Road I then hopped into the land-train that ferries everyone around the town and outlying bars. Everyone on board in a good mood, and all wrapped up against the cold winters night. Hopping off at Don Quixote I then sauntered from bar to bar, eventually winding up at El Sitio, just off the West End.

Playing original rock and blues numbers, The Putumayo Experience were in full flow, The bar was heaving and we danced the night away.

"Ah, breakfast" I said to myself when I woke up the following morning. I'd no idea what the time was, and frankly I didn't care. An extra day off, courtesy of the Balearic Islands? Marvellous.

No matter what order you prepare your breakfast in, the last item to cook is the fried egg. I always choose free range eggs. A rich yellow yolk, just right for dipping your toasted soldiers into. The difference between these and battery produced eggs is beyond comparison.

The smells and sights of bacon crackling and sausages sizzling filled my small kitchen. I was already salivating at the breakfast treat in store. I cracked open an egg on the side of the pan ready to break the yellowy and white goodness into the pan. Something I've been doing for years without incident.

Nothing happened. The familiar fissure did not appear to allow me to break the egg into the pan. I tried again. Nothing. I picked up another egg. Same result. I picked up a knife and tried to crack the egg in this fashion. At last, a small gap. I tried to break the egg over the pan the shell disintegrated in my hands and beneath it was a hard boiled egg!! I stared at this hard white lump in my hand in utter bewilderment.

"Has the world gone completely bonkers? Who would sell a boiled egg? Have the Spanish lost the recipe?"

Further investigation revealed that the other five were in the same state as the one in my hand. Bewilderment turned into deflation as I realised that my morning fry-up would not contain a runny egg to bring the whole meal together. Breakfast without a fried egg? Just not the same.

Two days later I bumped into my Spanish neighbour and I re-counted the incident of egg-based bewilderment. Inspecting the packaging she burst out laughing,
"These are huevos cocidos!"
I looked at her, totally bemused.
"Eggs that have already been cooked" she continued, laughing heartily at my Spanish schoolboy error. "Ridiculous as it may seem, that supermarket sells hard boiled eggs alongside fresh eggs."

I shook my head in disbelief. The world has finally lost the plot.

Just a minute.

Editors Note:
This Thursday, 28th March
is the last night to enjoy the amazing Pintxos of San Antonio.
(Next day is a Public Holiday - Good Friday)
Come and enjoy it!

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