Has everyone but me heard of pullet eggs? If you, like me, did not grow up on a farm (though my childhood was far from urban), you may not know this term. It refers to the eggs laid by chickens under the age of one year. Recently while we were visiting my grandparents, I walked into the chaos of breakfast time in the kitchen and gravitated to a carton of these beautiful little eggs that are roughly the size of…of…hmmm…they are like half the size of a large egg, if that. I demanded to know WHAT these were, and my Aunt Polly informed me of their proper name and that she had bought them at a local farmer’s market. Before anyone could crack another, fry it, and eat it… I had found a basket in my grandmother’s cupboard, filled it with the remaining eggs, and ran outside like a woman posessed to capture these before they were no more. No less than several eyebrows were raised at my sudden enthusiasm…
But you do what you have to do to be inspired sometimes…even if you are misunderstood. The real tragedy though, was that by the time I got my children their food, found myself a plate of my dad’s hearty pancakes and fried ham, each and every pullet egg had been consumed! So, anyone out there happen to know if there’s a difference in flavour at all? Still curious.
I had a pullet egg that morning…(sorry that they were all eaten before you had a chance) and it was delicious – though I did not notice that the flavor was different from a regular sized farm fresh egg.To me it was just a cute little egg. I now wish that I had thought about it more or perhaps did a mental taste comparison. (Or maybe I was just completely oblivious to the difference that did exist if I had paid attention!) Now I wish I had another opportunity!
Big time congratulation to your blog :) You know we have a saying here in Germany – I’m sure Dave knows that one: “Was lange währt, wird endlich gut.”
Immediately subscribed to your blog’s feed and can’t wait to read more about the Kunstle family’s culinary adventures. Hugs & Kisses!
Oh, and I have never -deliberately- tasted a pullet egg! But now I am curious!
My grandmother raised chickens, among other things, when I was a child . I loved gathering the still warm eggs from under a big fluffy hen!
One of the more remarkable edibles I enjoyed on Mom’s farm were the unfinished eggs she always salvaged whenever a hen was sacrificed for Sunday dinner. When cooked, these shell-less yolks had an intense, rich flavor which I like to think would be similar to wild fowl eggs.
Then, of course, there were the baked eggs and potatoes from beneath the burnt trash embers, but that is a topic for another time.
What can I even say, dear Nicky? You are SUCH an inspiration, and forever THE food blog guru! I had not heard the saying, but thankfully still remember enough German to understand it. Thank you, thank you for years of encouragement. XOXO.
Polly: Aren’t those kinds of memories the most vivid? I want to hear about the baked eggs and potatoes now… And thanks for the info on “unfinished eggs.” Fascinating. I learned something new.
Oh dear. I have a confession: I actually consumed 3 pullet eggs that morning. Calm down and keep reading. Polly fried up like six of them and offered me one. I gladly accepted hearing the words “fresh” and “farm”, then had to have Polly practically spell out the word pullet before I was convinced she was speaking plain English. As I happily sat down to taste the delicious egg, pancake and ham breakfast set before me, I picked up the salt shaker to lightly season the pullets, and the top of the salt shaker falls off into my egg along with a good teaspoon of salt before I could upright it. In my despair, I force two extremely salty bites into my mouth hoping I could stomach it and it was just too much. Polly scolds me for eating it and says, here, add another one. I accept and mash it together with the first. Again, I try two more bites, resolved to eat the eggs. Still, horrific, horrific salt and more salt in my mouth. Polly scolds me again and tells me to just throw it out. Mommy chimes in, so I reluctantly toss the precious pullet farm fresh eggs. They both pratically force me to cook myself another one, and I gotta tell you, it was superb. I am so sorry you missed out on the eggs. I really am! To be honest, I couldn’t tell a difference, and if I really think back, they weren’t that great, so you didn’t miss a thing! ;)
Rita: well, now we’ll keep an eye out for them…and do a blind tasting!
Oh, sure, try to make me feel better. Tragic story, actually.
Hey Stephanie:
I’m married to Terry, Polly’s cousin. Don’t know if she’s told you about us or not. I have never been able to tell the difference in the taste of pullet eggs. Just cute little eggs. They get bigger as the chicken gets older. I grew up eating farm eggs.
Good luck with your blog.
Hi Karen- thanks for your response… maybe cute does taste better!
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