Quack Quack

Ducks are a miracle!

Think about it. They can quack better than anyone, they wear those fancy waterproof bird costumes, their rubber counterparts have been given a very prestigious placement in the bathtub, they can swim and fly, their babies are so cute you want to poke them and squeeze them and eat them whole (ew, gross! Not in a real eating way! In a nuzzling way! Sheesh!), and, ahem, adult ducks might be, um, sort of delicious (okay, yes, in an eating way). And, man, can they lay some special eggs or what? See those things? Green! Pink! Yellow! Brown! White! Big, little! Great work, ducks.

These particular eggs I purchased from Millie, who sells her honey at the farmers' market that I go to in northern Michigan. Apparently, her bees are not the only talent in her household -- these ducks have produced a really incredible product, too. Some of the eggs in the box were so big that the lid wouldn't even close, and some were such bold colors that they looked like they had been attacked by the PAS Easter egg dyeing kit. And that Millie, well, she's a doll. There's a handwritten sign by each of her products on her table: Millie's Honey, Millie's Tomatoes, Millie's Fresh-Washed Eggs, Millie's Herbs. And, indeed, the eggs were possibly the cleanest eggs on the earth, and she was so proud of her ducks that I wanted to buy all the eggs in her cooler.

The eggs lasted for almost a month. They were so special that I parceled them out, one by one, using them in ways that would really make them shine. They made their appearance in an omelet, in scrambled eggs, in pasta dough, in quiche, and one even received special hardboiling privileges. The yolks were deep orange and huge, their shells thick and solid, and everything the eggs touched became gold! More soon, when you hear me go on and on about my new quiche obsession. Unless you think that four quiches in a week isn't categorized as an obsession. Perhaps just a protein interest? An attempt at perfecting my pastry or finding the perfect combination for the custard? Perhaps...an excuse to flaunt my duck eggs? Ah, yes. That must be it.