Thanksgiving Day Omelet Massacre

I'm an adequate cook. Not a GREAT cook, but mostly functional and so far I've not poisoned anyone (that I know of). My husband does most of the cooking because he's an exceptional cook.

On the weekends I make the kids a real breakfast instead of the quicky stuff they get during the week. Normally I do a simple bacon and eggs deal, but his morning we were out of bacon and I scrambled around (no pun intended) to figure out something else to do.

Out of the fridge came eggs, some cheese, lunchmeat (??). Well, it's meat and they are kids. Maybe they won't notice the difference. "Hey, how about an omelet?" I yell into the living room where the kids are playing. Julius yells back, "What's an omelet?" (This gives me brief pause to wonder what kind of culinary hell he must be living in if he's five years old and doesn't know what an omelet is.) Tristan yells back nothing because all he ever says is "horse".

My answer to the question was probably the first lie I've ever told my son. "Omelets? Well they are like a, uh, well... they are great!" I hate omelets.

I proceeded to make the omelet, dodging the two year old who wanted to put his hand in the egg bowl then he proceeded to fall off the upside down bucket on which he was standing. He jumped up yelling, "egg! egg!" I assumed the concussion he may have received from falling stimulated some of his communication neurons and they were now beginning to function. At least something was getting accomplished this morning.

Okay, egg... IN, cheese... IN, fake ham product... IN. I realized after going this far I didn't realize how I was supposed to fold the omelet over. I was thinking I read somewhere you aren't supposed to flip an omelet, that it just magically cooks itself somehow. I couldn't get the spatula under the side. It was unruly and slippery and devious. I now hated omelets on a whole new level. They began to represent my failings as a mother, as a wife, as a domestic goddess, as possibly a Westernized human. Probably everyone but me knows how to make an omelet.

I don't know how normal people accomplish the goal, but I used a butter knife AND a spatula and both hands to finally get the task done. I didn't want to risk killing anyone, so I did flip the omelet, afraid an uncooked center would earn us a visit from the food-borne bacteria fairies. Immediately I realized what a mistake was as it became misshapen and lumpy like a picture you'd see in an article entitled, "How NOT to make an omelet".

I served it up, saved myself a sliver. Then came the Thanksgiving Miracle -- the kids both cleaned their plates, asked for more and when I tasted the remaining sliver in the pan I decided that maybe omelets aren't so bad after all.

So... do you have any omelet advice?

[photo credit: sidereal]