Casual Friday
The egg left its shell rather willingly and sprawled itself upon the sizzling oil like a pirouetting ballerina landing in the splits. I was admiring my bird's eye view of the perfectly irregular oval shape of the tutu, crisp around the edges and soufflé-soft in the middle. From within her radiant yellow halo, the prima ballerina gave me an approving nod and I showered her with snowflakes of sea salt. Then the wind machine whipped the snowflakes into a raging blizzard and the music rose to a closing crescendo.