It’s Day Two of my week-long celebration of eggs but, it’s also Super Bowl Sunday. So, here’s the dilemma I faced: how do you fit the wholesome, goodfoodness of eggs onto a menu that consists of the greasy, fatty jumble of nachos, chicken wings, corn dogs, meat-lovers pizza and beer?
And, no, egg batter doesn’t count. It’s too easy. Pickled eggs are passé, devilled eggs are too dainty and poached would be laughed out of the man cave. There had to be a way to give eggs their proper place among the heart-stopping, acid-reflux-inducing, mouth-watering array of North American sports bar cuisine (if I can use that word).
For the answer, I turned to my Scottish cousins, who seem the most able to turn every dietary virtue into a culinary vice (anybody for boiled-for-an-hour veg?). The Scots can even make bad food worse. Witness the deep-fried Mars bar.
But, perhaps I’m being too harsh. I’m not even sure that Scotch eggs are from Scotland. They could be just another ploy by the sourpuss English to give the Scots a bad name. After all, they’re still jealous because it was the Scots King James who wrote their Bible.
Anyway, I digress. Wherever they came from, what we call Scotch eggs are perfect sports-bar food and have nothing to be ashamed of next to a plate of deep-fried cheese sticks and a bottle of Bud – they’re even shaped like footballs. Anything wrapped in sausage and then breaded and deep-fried is sin food, even if you are rooting for the Saints.
But, unlike corn dogs or pretzels, these are not limited to the rec-room table. Half a Scotch egg next to a small green salad is right at home at an upscale brunch and would make an elegant appetizer (imagine tiny ones made with quail eggs.)
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