Eggs? No thanks.

Nanni had always been a quiet child and it had taken a fainting spell to awaken me to the idea that something more than good behaviour lay behind the listlessness.

I was still mentally flaying myself for not questioning her docile acceptance as I walked out of the doctor’s consulting rooms. He had not lectured me much upon neglect but I wished he had given me a tongue-lashing; I deserved it.

Nanni had been a premature child but had done very well in infancy, trebling her birth weight by five months of age. She had been just plump enough to be cute until about three years of age but pre-school, and bouts of the infections that went around and came around, had taken their toll. Her appetite too had become subdued and although she always ate whatever she was served, I had failed to notice that she never asked for seconds of even her favourite items, the progress had been insidious. She was now at five years, significantly underweight and anaemic. I could now discern the thinness and the pallor, how had I allowed my busy schedule to miss it before?

The doctor had put her on a high protein and high calorie diet with the careless advice to give her “lots of eggs”.

Eggs? We were strict vegetarians and I could just picture the furor that eggs in the house would cause. Eventually, it turned out my father-in-law too was worried about her health, and was very supportive of the prescription.

But it was my suddenly capricious daughter who buttoned up her mouth and refused to even touch the egg. I reproduce my struggles to win her over, in the hope that some other parent may benefit from the story.

Nanni: I won’t eat baby chickens. Some mother hen will be crying if you take her eggs away from her.

Me: Darling, you know how flowers become fruits only when the bee or butterfly has pollinated them? Well, eggs too are like that, and these eggs have not been pollinated. Even if the hen was to sit on them for a year, they could never turn into chicks. They are as vegetarian as milk.

Nanni: It’s too smooth.

Me: Did you know the eggs have a really unique shape? They are soft and smooth so that it doesn’t hurt the hen to lay them. They only become hard after they are laid. They still remain wonderfully rounded and smooth.

Nanni: They are too...white.

She folds her arms across her chest and looks at me as though to challenge my ability to explain away that one. I desperately search for some inspiration but come up against a blank mind...wait, that's it.

Me: You like to draw, don't you darling. Well what do you draw on...blank sheets of paper, right?

Nanni: You can't draw on eggs.

Me: Sure, you can, I'll show you how. You can even colour them.

She accepts this reluctantly, but goes on to the next grievance because she trusts me not to let her down. I haven't yet. I later fulfilled her expectations. It took a lot of effort with melted wax, food colours and toothpicks but I turn out marvels of Easter egg art for her lunch -box which later thrill her classmates and give her a certain cachet.

Nanni: They can't even sit.

She takes a look at my blank expression and qualifies her statement

Nanni: They roll all over the place when I try to put them down.

Me: Well, these are a special food for special children so they are sort of royal. You never saw a King sitting down on the ground did you? He has a throne, so do eggs, and the thrones are called eggcups.

Here I unearth two highly decorative pewter eggcups that were gifted to me by an exchange student friend. She studies them in silent consideration and retorts...

Nanni: I have seen rows of eggs in the shop and they were just sitting in cardboard trays.

Me: Darling, even a king needs his subjects, right? In our house however, we will treat them all like kings. This appeals to my child who has socialistic leanings, but satisfaction at this utopia of equality diverts her mind for no more than a few brief seconds.

Nanni: They break easily.

Me: They would have to, wouldn’t they, sweetie? Other wise the baby chick would not have the strength to break out of it when they hatch.

Nanni: They are icky and sticky, when they break.

Me: They are full of protein which is why they feel that way, but you do not have to touch them or even see me cook them if you would rather not.

Nanni: They smell.

Now this was irrefutable and for those who have eaten eggs and meat all their lives this might seem ridiculous; but for those who have eschewed such products, these have a strong and distinctive smell. I have an aunt who can taste a cake and tell if its egg-less, or if not, how many eggs have been used.

Me: Well, they smell less when cooked and I will add some other vegetables or fruits to mask the smell.

Nanni: I don’t want it looking at me.

Me: I’m sorry?

Nanni: Aditya had an egg in his lunch box and it was looking at him with one big yellow eye.

I mentally crossed fried or poached eggs off the list for the present.

Nanni: Is it sweet or salty?

Me: Well, it is basically tasteless so I can make it either way. I can make you something like the mushroom-capsicum topping you like on toast, or a pancake-like omelet, or a kind of patty with veggies, or I can make a custard or quiche or soufflé, I can make cakes or ...

Nanni: Make them all. (A peremptory command, a sudden gleam of enthusiasm at the variety of dishes possible.)

Me: All?

Suddenly impatient with my puny intelligence and dazed incomprehension she makes a sweeping gesture with her hand as she orders...

Nanni: Make them all, one by one.

I did, and she grew to love the sight of the little white oblate spheroids. I became an expert at creating new dishes and my egg-y version of meat loaf is a firm favourite to this day. She eventually became expert at creating her own culinary treats involving eggs and devises her own 'eggsquisite' recipes today. A habit that will stand her in good stead when her children have appetite tantrums.