Gilbert opened the fridge door and looked around, trying to figure out what to eat.
He could have eggs, but that was too pat, too stereotypical.
There was toast, his usual go-to breakfast. One slice, with peanut butter and banana. Occasionally a dollop of jam, a gift from his mother, his favourite topping, smeared in the peanut butter in lieu of the banana. But that was a rare treat, not a daily thing.
Gilbert was hungry, though. A small meal last night, a restless sleep, and he needed something more substantial. There were leftover beans from dinner, but they were too…dinner-like. Some loved beans for breakfast. Gilbert had had them himself, on occasion. But today, no. No beans.
Eventually, he decided on the eggs. There’s a reason it’s a classic, he thought. Tasty, delicious eggs. He took two, grabbed a bowl, and cracked them in. He pulled a fork from the drawer and started beating the eggs, grabbed a bit of whole milk from the fridge, whipped a splash in. He turned on the stove’s burner, and when it was hot, took some butter from the fridge and sliced off a pat. He shook it off the knife, into the pan. Once it was melted, he poured the eggs in and grabbed a spatula, pushing them around.
The eggs quickly hardened in the heat, turning from liquid to solid in that well-known, rarely-considered chemical reaction. One of the few liquids that turned solid as you increase the temperature.
Gilbert wasn’t thinking chemical reactions, though. He turned the eggs a few times, made sure they were cooked, then scooped them on to a plate. He retrieved a fork from the drawer, the ketchup from the fridge, and sat to eat his breakfast, holding the salt and pepper at the ready.