This egg wasn't cooked on the pavement, obviously, but it has been hot enough outdoors for a whole sidewalk of omelets.
Still. It's cooling off a bit (only reached the high 90s today; the answering machine at the AC repair shop said "Don't even dream of getting an appointment for the next few weeks"). Safe for us to return to the kitchen, a little at a time.
And therein lay Cranky's Crisis.
He is a natural egg cooker. He gets perfect yolks every time. His omelets never stick, they always turn beautifully and fold to hold luscious fillings. He knows his way around a frittata, and if he had any interest in shirred eggs, I'm sure he could shir with the best of them.
But look at the little gray-green ring on this egg wedge, between the yolk and the white.
"Can I eat this?" Cranky gasped. "Do you think it's all right?"
Yup. The Eggman has never before cooked a hard-cooked egg to the point of getting the little gray-green ring.
He's off his rhythm.
Goo goo g'joob.