Scrammy eggs

March 8, 2008

Last Saturday morning, I awoke in pain. The head throbbed, but worse were the waves of nausea that coursed regularly through the system. It had been my 40th birthday drinks the night before and my aged body wasn’t used to the dose of beer that would have caused it no problem in its younger days.

Luckily, Steven was on hand to make a heroic dash to the shops for some eggs and  Taste the Difference bacon. While I grilled the bacon, he set about making some “scrammy eggs”.

I love the Australian custom of taking the first syllable of a word and sticking a ‘y’, ‘ie’ or ‘o’ on the end. It goes well with the whole informality of Australia that’s so refreshing to us repressed Brits. Some of my particular favourites include “cozzie” (swimming costume), “smoko” (cigarette break), “servo” (petrol station), “pokies” (gambling machines) and “the Salvos” (Salvation Army charity shops).

“Scrammy eggs” was one I hadn’t heard before. And Steven’s scrammy eggs was something I hadn’t tasted before. It was creamy and peppery and delicious. As the nutrients went to the aid of my suffering body, I felt good. I’d had a lovely night with lovely friends, and here I was having a lovely breakfast with the lovely man I’d be breakfasting with for years to come.

I was forty and hungover and happy.