I Can Make an Omelette (Ok, no I can't)

After a particularly good meal at a restaurant, I like to try to recreate the recipe at home. As you can imagine, I'm often less than successful. But I keep trying.

In Florida, we had breakfast at a quaint beachside restaurant with an omelette bar. A very quiet, unassuming man would whip up an omelette with the fixin's of your choice, and he made it all look so effortless.

Those were the best omelettes I've ever had, probably due in no small part to two things - A) I didn't have to make them, and B) We were at a beachside resort in Florida. ((sigh))

When I got home I decided I could make an effortless omelette too. Fluffy perfection.

Heat a pan, add a splash of oil. Saute some veggies, then pour in some beaten egg whites. Lift the edges and let the uncooked egg run underneath. Then flip the omelette into the air with a quick thrust of the pan. (Wait... probably best if I skip the mid-air omelette airshow...) Turn over the omelette, add the merest sprinkling of cheese, and fold in half. Serve with fresh fruit and a mimosa bloody mary jello shot glass of freshly-squeezed juice and a cappucino.

I'd watched the quiet, unassuming man make my omelette morning after blessed morning, and I had the system well-rehearsed.

Well, the pile-of-egg-rubble-that-was-my-omelette tasted fine, it just didn't, um, present so well. However did I go wrong? I did it exactly like the quiet, unassuming man from the quaint beachside restaurant!

Then Rob wandered in. Then he laughed at me. Then he told me I did it all wrong. And then, insult of all insults, he made this:

Smarty pants.

One-upper.

Know-it-all.

Um, darling? Will you share?