Janelle gave me some of her hens' eggs a week or two ago. They're so lovely - different sizes and shades of tawny and heather-gray. The yolks are saffron-orange and salute proudly on the hot pan. But the best thing about these little beauts is the flavor. You can really taste the difference between eggs from lively chickens that breathe forest air, freely pecking at bugs and grit and weeds, and those from the soylent chickens that eat their own shit and feathers ground up with cornmeal and sawdust. Instead of the peaked, watery interiors of conventional (this includes so-called "free-range") eggs, these are rich and pastoral, humming with nutriment and fecundity.
Typical Sunday morning breakfast: carb/protein/fat in equal parts for optimal metabolic performance (you didn't know I give a shit about that stuff, did you). Today it's a fresh-baked multi-grain bagel (take and bake from friendly neighborhood Marsee Baking) with thick slabs of uncured ham, egg fried over medium, and Gruyère. Wash down with ample amounts of good, strong coffee. Do chores.