Claire’s Eggs: The Rest of the Story

A month ago I did a post on the eggs that our daughter brought from Claire, my daughter’s colleague in Texas (click here). At the end of the post I asked Claire to tell us about the hens that laid the beautiful eggs she had sent to us.

We used the last of the eggs by making a “rainbow omelet.”

Here is what she wrote: “After all these years raising chickens, I, too, still marvel at the colors my girls lay. The blue eggs come from the mutts of the chicken world. They have various names depending on which hatchery is selling them but the ‘technical term’ amongst chicken people is Easter Eggers and they lay all colors of eggs, mostly blue or green. The dark brown eggs come from the cuckoo marans, the tan eggs come from Buff Orpingtons, a Red Broiler (was supposed to be dinner but she was too sweet) named Gerda, and a huge gray Jersey Giant. The olive color eggs are from a bird hatched on the farm, a Buff Orpington/Easter Egger cross – if you look at the shell when you crack the egg, you’ll see the inside is blue. The white eggs are from an Andalusian hen and/or 2 white leghorns that we can’t tell apart. The yolks are darker for the hens that spend the most time foraging on pasture, lighter for the lazier girls that eat more feed. I’m so pleased y’all enjoy the eggs and gave them some space in your wonderful blog, thank you!”

Claire, can I put in an order for two dozen for Friday delivery? The weather is nice here in Michigan. My store bought eggs just aren’t as much fun.

How Much Fun Are Eggs?

Our daughter drove up from southern Texas over the week-end with her car loaded with everything she needed for a month’s vacation with us – to escape the horrendous heat and to enjoy all that Michigan offers in midsummer. As I have been complaining about the heat, she has been countering with how beautiful the weather is; repeated several time a day as neither of us are tiring of our words.

Did I say her car was packed? She brought her sewing machine and bolts of fabric, her work computer so she could put out fires if needed, boxes of canning jars, remnants from her refrigerator, and eggs. Not just any eggs purchased from the local store. No, these were special eggs from Texas. The night before she left, her work colleague and friend, Claire, brought two dozen freshly laid eggs to Sharon’s home to bring to us. It was a very exciting gift, a total surprise and absolutely beautiful. Scroll back up and look at the colors. As soon as I looked at them I had to decide if I wanted to eat them or put them in a bowl as decoration in my kitchen.

I decided we would have fried eggs this morning and it was the first time in my life that I had to decide what color egg I wanted to eat. I chose white so I could keep the other colors a little longer (in the refrigerator in their cartons of course).

How beautiful are these eggs? You don’t have to answer because I already know the answer – and they tasted even better than their beauty in the frying pan. I was giddy when I sat down to our breakfast, with a chorus of bird-song, making sure I swiped every drop of yoke with my last corner of toast, in our three season room in the morning cool. What a grand morning it is.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Claire. What a special gift you gave us. Now I have to decide if we will have eggs tonight for supper or tomorrow for breakfast, or tomorrow for lunch, or…

Also, Claire, are these chicken eggs or goat eggs? Just kidding. If you are able to leave a comment, I would love to hear about the chickens who laid these eggs.

Bakery Patrol


We were driving from where we had been to where we were going in New England, driving over and around mountains and through small towns, the small towns that have a mechanic and someone who does roofing and a few houses. People who live there go to the next town for gas and groceries.

We suspected we were coming to that next town based on the font size of the name on the map – I was on bakery patrol. And there it was, on the right, big letters on the side of the building “BAKERY”. There was the Polish Princess Bakery, with 7 empty angled parking places in a row – just big enough for our truck and travel trailer with a space on each end left for other shoppers. It felt like a miracle.

On that day I became the Polish Princess. I had always been the Polish part, at least half of me, and I felt the Princess part was bestowed on me as I walked into the bakery. We decided to follow our routine to buy something to split at the empty table for two by the front window and something to split with our cup of tea after the veil of evening darkness had descended upon our cozy little traveling home.

Our choice to split in the bakery was a chocolate-filled croissant because neither of us can eat chocolate at night. It blocks the easy drift into slumber, even with the chamomile tea antidote. The dark chocolate filling was a perfect mate for the sweet, buttery pastry. We licked our lips, we moaned in joy, and we picked up crumbs with our moistened finger tips.

The real joy came that night when we split the apple-filled pastry. The crust was between a very good pie crust and a filo pastry, oh so flaky and tender and buttery. It was folded over real, not-out-of-a-can, apples that were still a little crunchy and sprinkled with just enough cinnamon and sugar to enhance the flavor of the apples while still allowing the apples to have the leading role. The Polish Princess was sorry she had to share half with her Prince.


The prompt from The Daily Post, flavorful, motivated me to write this post.

Tommy’s Hot Dog Stand

This afternoon my honey and I decided to do a lunch date at one of our favorite eating places – Tommy’s Hot Dog Stand.

You can only find Tommy’s open during warm weather – they will be closing October 26. And you need to know where to go because they aren’t listed in the Yellow Pages or on-line. I don’t think they have an address to put in your GPS. They are close to downtown, in a residential neighborhood, in front of Tommy’s house. And they sell a lot of hot dogs. We heard from someone that he closes each day after he sells 400. This may also be local urban legend. We go after the noon rush.

Our town is known for Coney Islands, made with finely ground beef heart. Each time my mother came back to visit from Florida, she stopped for Coneys before seeing me. People airship them to other places in the country after they move away.

Meet Tommy, doing what he is so good at – making hot dogs and having fun with customers. Andie and Alex are in the background. They are all related – and belong to a restaurant family famous for their Coney Island Dogs.

After parking by the curb, you get in line so Carrie can take your order. The menu consists of hot dogs, chips, rice pudding and canned pop/soda.

As we were getting in line we met up with a woman who had come down the street in a motorized wheel chair to get a hot dog for herself and one for her grandson whose birthday was yesterday.

If they aren’t busy there is always some chatting going on.

And they know how to make a hot dog and serve it fast. Tommy makes the dogs on a tray, handing it back to the wrappers and server. Many people take orders back to work with them but you can also eat in – well actually out, picnic style.

Alex wrapping.

Andie bagging a take-away order.

Curt replenishing Polish sausages. Refilling containers is full-time work.

If you haven’t picked up on it, Tommy likes to talk and my husband does as well. We live in a small town and find out that Tommy graduated with my cousin’s husband, Ted. Jim also worked with Tommy’s neighbor so they have a lot to talk about. While Tommy takes a break, Alex takes over making the dogs. He shows us the find art of making a perfect coney dog with onions.

Hot coney sauce is spooned on the dog.

Some mustard.

Onions carefully spread on top.

My Nancy Dog, with a fresh sauerkraut slaw on top, was fabulous but as usual it was gone before I thought about taking a picture. You will just have to take my word for it.