The other night I mysteriously had a craving for the drink of my childhood. Perhaps not so mysteriously, as it's exactly the sort of thing that someone on a weight gain regime--which I clearly am--would long for. The drink is called eggnog, and consists of a glass of milk with a raw egg dumped into it, sugar, and a dash of nutmeg. My mother would put this in the blender and add a liberal dash of food coloring and then pour me a tall, lactic glass of teal or lavender eggnog.
I wrote to my mother to get confirmation of the recipe and got this in response:
"Are you accidentally writing to the wrong person?"
And then when I insisted that I remembered said eggnog very clearly, I got this:
"Maybe you're remembering your birth mother."
And finally, the concession:
"I'm willing to believe I made egg nog, though, because I felt it was my maternal duty to pump you kids full of protein and dairy, and back then raw eggs weren't regarded as a health risk. And I've always loved food coloring."
