Omelets

Jack and Ianto approach life, and omelets, very differently. Something of a character study. My first.

IANTO

Ianto makes an omelet with the same precision with which he lives his life. He begins by assembling his ingredients: three eggs, cheese, and butter. He sets the salt and pepper mills on the counter by the stove and takes out a small bowl, a fork, a grater, a spatula, the old cast iron skillet that's never been washed, and its cover. The pan goes on the stove over medium heat, and Ianto adds a teaspoon of butter, then puts the butter away. While the butter melts he cracks the eggs into the bowl. He washes his hands, because you can't be too careful. He adds a tablespoon of water to the eggs and beats them until the mixture is a smooth, even yellow. He adds salt and pepper, three twists of each, from his mills. He uses the spatula to swish the melted butter in his skillet and pours the eggs in. He sets his timer for 2 minutes and rinses the bowl and fork in the sink.

While he waits for the eggs to set, he grates an ounce of cheese (usually cheddar, Gruyere when he's feeling sassy) and glances at the timer. He's got 30 seconds, so Ianto washes the grater and the bowl and sets them on the rack to dry. When the timer beeps he gives the skillet a little shake. The eggs are almost set, so he lifts the edges of his omelet to let the uncooked part spill underneath. He adds the grated cheese in a strip down the center and carefully folds the edges over. The skillet comes off the heat, and he sets it aside with the cover on to finish cooking while he gets out a plate and washes the fork. Once he's put the omelet on the plate, he wipes out the skillet and rinses the spatula, feeling a little guilty about not washing it immediately. Ianto looks down as the product of his efforts and smiles; it's exactly like every other omelet he's made. Perfect.

JACK

Jack makes an omelet with the same abandon with which he lives his life. He takes out three eggs and cracks them into an oversized coffee mug he's just rinsed. Rummaging through the fridge looking for ingredients and inspiration, he finds an eclectic collection of leftovers and condiments: Italian sausage from last week's lunch, feta and olives from the top of a wilted Greek salad, sun dried tomatoes from a little jar in the back (who knows how long they'd been there), and a handful of wilting basil from his attempt at making Thai food. Jack chops up the olives and tomatoes and adds them to his eggs, then spots a nearly empty glass of wine and adds a splash of that, too. He mixes his ingredients together and and sets them aside to look for the pan to cook them in. He finds his non-stick skillet in the sink, still dirty. Jack shrugs and rinses it in hot water before putting it on the stove over high heat. A generous glorp of butter goes in, and he watches it sizzle and brown. He pours the eggs into the pan.

While the eggs cook (and he'll know they're done when the edges look slightly scorched), Jack roughly chops the sausage, feta, and basil together and licks his fingers. When the eggs are almost set he smiles. This is Jack's favourite part: he gives the pan a little shake to loosen the omelet and flips it with a quick movement of his wrist. There's always a risk, flipping an omelet, and he's lost more than a few, but it's worth it. He piles his fillings on one side, waits a moment for the bottom to cook, and slides the omelet on to a plate, using the edge of the skillet to fold the other side over. He grabs the fork (the same one he used to mix the eggs), and takes a bite, leaving the pan and everything else exactly where he set it when he stopped using it. Jack's omelet is delicious and unique, like no other he's ever made. Perfect.