The Squat Exercise Known as Tamagoyaki

For me, tamagoyaki is an obligation.
It is the star performer that carries the burden of providing 'color' to a bento box that might otherwise end up entirely brown.

Whether I'm told they're tired of it or that they're not in the mood, I fry it from Monday to Friday.
On Saturdays, it's just my husband, so brown is fine.
Actually, brown is better.

Even after frying it for 26 years, it is difficult to achieve a finish that makes me feel smug enough to call it 'perfect!'

First, the frying pan.
Ideally, one would use a copper tamagoyaki pan, but that isn't suitable for bento making.

Mornings are busy.
I can't have several types of pans out.
The battle is won or lost based on whether I can reuse one pan for tamagoyaki, stir-fried vegetables, and ginger pork.

I heard something rattling inside the handle of the tamagoyaki pan I had been reusing that way for several years.

It seems the connection between the body and the handle had corroded and fallen inside the handle.
Since it would be dangerous if the handle came off while cooking, I decided to buy a new one.

Rather than worrying about an invisible connection, I chose a type with a detachable handle.

This was a nuisance.

The attachment for the handle that grips the pan protrudes inward, making it hard to roll the egg.
To make matters worse, if egg liquid gets on that connection, it hardens with the heat and is difficult to remove even after washing.

I have to manage the not-so-great Teflon coating while trying to keep the egg liquid from sticking to the attachment.
On top of that, the angle doesn't feel quite right either.

Despite being Teflon-coated, it's demanding; if I don't use the right heat and the right amount of oil, it sticks immediately.

I steadied my breathing.

In my mind, I can see the cooking station of a tamagoyaki shop in Tsukiji.
The brilliant pan work, the egg dancing around as if it had a mind of its own.

Alright!

I placed my chopsticks against the half-set egg liquid in the pan, and while lightly squatting, I rolled the egg...

I failed.

The ideal is a glossy, moisturized surface.
Lustrous, fresh, and neat.

The reality is fragile and precarious... one wrong step away from scrambled eggs.

But I cannot give up here. Morning time is a battle of every minute and second. I have no leeway to refry it, nor do I have the motivation.

I switched my chopsticks for a spatula, peeled that wretched yellow lump off the pan, stuck it together, and forced it into the corner.

Ignoring even the "obstacle" of the handle attachment, the U-shaped indentation was a mark of my struggle.
I pressed it firmly along the right-angled corner to shape it.

Heat is justice.

If I force it to set with residual heat and hide the seams, it should look like a respectable piece of tamagoyaki inside the bento box.

Formed through sheer tenacity, the result was a physical embodiment of my morning anxiety.

Come to think of it, they say professional chefs practice rolling with a damp towel many times before they ever cook a real egg.

Shouldn't I go back to basics, too?

Shouldn't I be training with a damp cloth until I master the quirks of this frying pan with its strangely protruding handle?

If I do that, maybe one day I'll be able to control the self-willed egg with just a flick of my wrist, without needing to use my knees.

After everyone left for the door, I dampened a cloth and threw myself into "independent training."

Day after day, morning and night. Days spent wiping sweat with a hand towel draped around my neck, tossing the pan, and focusing on light squats and wrist snaps.

Finally... I hurt my knees.

In my mind having honed my skills, I grew to loathe this "detachable handle frying pan" I had chosen, and resolved to give it a notice of termination.

You shouldn't underestimate 26 years of experience. A mistake in choosing tools is a matter of life and death.

However, my "frugal nature" reared its head here.

Is the Teflon still good? Isn't it convenient for storage because the handle comes off?

My inner little self whispers.
(Not that character.)

It's easy to buy a replacement, but my pride as a housewife won't let me throw this pan away without using it to the end.

From there, a strange life together began for me and this frying pan.

The notice of termination was withdrawn.

Instead, I will assign him the grueling task of "everything that can be done in a square frying pan."

Stir-fried vegetables, ginger pork, hamburger steaks, and even some light simmered dishes.

Everything, absolutely everything, will be made in this frying pan.

It is a base strategy to work it to the bone and force it to show the "sign for replacement (peeling Teflon)" as soon as possible.

How about that!

Have you had enough!

However, this frying pan was annoyingly durable.

Even though it is used vigorously every day, the Teflon shows no signs of peeling at all.

On the contrary, as I used it over and over, I learned not to even care about those attachment protrusions.

And today.

For the first time in a while, I cooked something so good I could be proud of it.

Not bad, right?

But tomorrow is Saturday. A brown-colored bento.

While basking in the sense of liberation that I don't have to cook yellow, I wash this frying pan a bit roughly.

I do intend to use it until the Teflon starts looking suspicious.

Yes, I intend to. Intend to. Right.

Scrub, scrub, right.

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