My Dad owns a restaurant. He's Greek. He has a t-shirt that he sells to his customers that says "How do you want your eggs? Not that it matters." It's a big joke around Austin, Texas, that people order their eggs this way or that at the restaurant and they get what they get. He doesn't care. He just says he'll try to do better next time. He owns a greasy spoon diner that's older'n dirt in downtown Austin, and his first t-shirt showed him on the front with a big cigar stickin outta his mouth cookin eggs. Not exactly a health inspector's dream restaurant, but the University of Texas students like it for the ambiance <looks around fearful>, the fact that everything is homemade, and you can smoke there. Austin is one of those "clean air cities" that does not appeal to the late bar crowd, but he lets his customers smoke. I am not sure how he gets away with it, but he does. All I know. to my Dad.. over easy.. is put it in the pan for five seconds, then on the plate. I started ordering my eggs well done to get em "ovary easy." Hehehhe. I love my Dad.. and his bad cooking.
Country girl