Actually, the way I generally make my own eggs is one of my Proustian madeleines.
After tending to the cooking of the eggs and carefully transferring them from frying pan (or is it skillet?) to plate, I hold the pan over the plate and, with the spatula, wipe some or all of the remaining butter (of COURSE they're cooked in REAL BUTTER) out of the pan, drizzling it over the eggs for additional yummity goodness.
This action, and of course the resulting yummity goodness whilst eating, derive from a golden moment or two from the early 1960s. My family had recently moved from Ohio to Fort Lauderdale. My grandmother had moved earlier and had an apartment there, and once in a while she would have either just me, or my sister and I, stay overnight, just for fun, though I seem to recall this being associated with something special on television, say, "The Wizard of Oz" or Mary Martin's "Peter Pan" (all of it always in black and white for us in those days). I stayed over alone a couple of times when we were going to get up early to watch the broadcasts of the first launches of the Mercury orbits -- Alan Shepard, John Glenn, etc. AnyHOO, she would always make us a full eggs breakfast -- which was a special treat for me because on most days at home we were a cereal family, but I liked me my full egg breakfasts from the start, AND she, unlike our family, always used real butter, as opposed to margarine, in cooking and on the table. When she first drizzled that golden stuff over those eggs I knew I had found heaven. To this day, half a century later, I eat those eggs and remember -- and FEEL -- those mornings.
The End. Hey, that wasn't half bad. I should type it up and sell it.
