While I was gone to Maryland, Farmerteen called me to tell me she had made crumps. As you may or may not suspect, she meant to make crepes (which are surprisingly simple — our friends gave us an in-service one morning, and we’ve been happily making our own ever since), but, as she told me in glorious, tawdry, giggly detail: hers were crumpled, so hers were crumps.
My brother, who was visiting, got on the phone and told me that he makes mounds. He’d tried for many years to make omelets, only to have the eggs mound up on him into a scrambly, but tasty mess. He’s since come to terms with his eggs this way, and now he simply offers other people mounds (of eggs, with the filling jumbled in).
I would have taken a picture of my omelet had it not become a mound. But here is my omelet, unscrambled:
