Egg and Tomato Scramble -- The Small Kitchen, the One Pan

Baton Rouge spring — azaleas blooming in front yards. Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is. I am holding up.

Drove to Baker Saturday morning. MawMaw Shirley was at the stove already. We made gumbo. Thirty-five minutes of roux. The lesson keeps unfolding.

Jambalaya. The Robinson Monday tradition. Andouille, chicken, the trinity, rice cooked in the pot. One pan. Fed everyone.

The week held. The roux was right. MawMaw would have approved.

I went to the gym Tuesday and Thursday this week. Twenty minutes on the treadmill. Standard. The body is the only equipment I have for the rest of my life and I am trying to maintain it.

The apartment kitchen is small but it cooks. Two burners. One pot. A cutting board balanced on the counter because the counter is too small for both the cutting board and the toaster.

Daddy sent me an Amazon receipt accidentally Sunday. He bought a power tool I do not understand. Standard. He texted twenty minutes later, "wrong thread, sorry baby." I told him don't worry about it. He said thank you. The exchange was the exchange.

Crawfish boil at a friend's place Saturday. Twenty-five pounds. The shells filled three trash bags. Standard Louisiana spring. We sat at the picnic table for four hours. The corn was the best of the boil. The corn always is.

I sent MawMaw a photo of my gumbo Tuesday. She replied, "too light, baby, keep stirring." She has not changed the critique in twelve years. The critique is the love.

MawMaw Shirley's recipe cards in the wooden box on the kitchen counter. I copied another one Saturday morning at her kitchen table. The collection is growing. She watched me copy. She corrected my Cs. She has always corrected my Cs.

I texted Kayla about her latest design portfolio Tuesday. She is good. She has Tanya's directness and Daddy's eye for proportion. The design field will know her name eventually.

Reading something light at night. A novel by a Louisiana writer. The voice was familiar. The voice was home. The book ended on a small kindness. I appreciated that.

I drove past the gas station where DeAndre died. I do not stop. I do not avoid it either. The drive past is the drive past. He is twenty-eight in my head. He stays twenty-eight.

Sunday service at Bethany. The choir sang. The pastor preached on Hannah and Samuel. I sat with Tanya and Marcus. The hymn at the end was the one Mama used to hum. I cried into the bulletin. Standard.

DeAndre's birthday came around again. I made his favorite — andouille and chicken in brown gravy. I ate two bowls. I called Aunt Renee. We did not say much. We did not need to. The food was the saying.

Friday night Darius and I watched a movie I have already forgotten. We fell asleep on the couch by ten. The dog (we got a dog last year, did I mention) slept between us. Standard.

Driving past the Scotlandville house Sunday afternoon, the one Daddy rebuilt after the flood. The house is solid. The house is the house. I see the watermark from the flood every time I look at the foundation. We do not paint over it. We let it tell the story.

Tanya brought a casserole over Wednesday. The Tanya casserole. Half went into the freezer. The other half fed me Wednesday and Thursday. Mama's casseroles are the silent backup of my entire adult life.

Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is — not gross, not romantic, just human. I went home after Friday lab and made gumbo because the only thing that quiets the body after a day in the lab is the slow stir of a roux.

The jambalaya and the gumbo are the big traditions — MawMaw’s recipes, copied onto index cards at her kitchen table while she corrects my handwriting. But between those anchors, the small apartment kitchen asks for something simpler. Two burners. One pan. Some mornings after lab, or after a long drive back from Baker, I’d come home and make eggs and tomatoes because it was what the counter could hold and what the body needed. This scramble is that meal — nothing ceremonial, just honest and warm, the kind of thing you make when the week has been full and you still have to eat.

Egg and Tomato Scramble

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

• 4 large eggs
• 2 medium tomatoes, roughly chopped
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil or unsalted butter
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 teaspoon soy sauce (optional)
• 1/4 teaspoon sugar
• 2 green onions, thinly sliced

Instructions

1. Beat the eggs. Crack eggs into a bowl, add 1/4 teaspoon salt and the black pepper, and beat until the yolks and whites are fully combined and slightly frothy. Set aside.
2. Cook the tomatoes. Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add tomatoes, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, and the sugar. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 3 to 4 minutes until the tomatoes begin to break down and release their juices. Stir in soy sauce if using.
3. Add the eggs. Reduce heat to medium. Pour the beaten eggs directly over the tomatoes. Let the mixture sit undisturbed for about 30 seconds until the edges begin to set.
4. Scramble gently. Using a spatula, fold the eggs and tomatoes together with slow, wide strokes. Continue until the eggs are just cooked through but still slightly soft — about 2 minutes. Do not overcook.
5. Finish and serve. Remove from heat immediately. Top with sliced green onions and serve warm over steamed rice or with crusty bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 215 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 15g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 490mg