FLY ON THE WALL

FLY ON THE WALL
The Admins of Project 365 asked for volunteers for a suicide mission to be a fly on the wall at any point in History, so I promptly did. Armed with special powers I wondered where to go first!
Unveil the secret behind the Resurrection by visiting Jerusalem at the turn of the millennium? Dan Brown would lose his readership, but I might upset too many believers.
Find out the reality behind the Mahabharata wars by flying to Kurukshetra a few more millennia backwards? But with Bramhastras flying around, even a fly might get fried. Could return later perhaps?
Then I hit upon it! I had always wondered at the brilliance of the man who first invented omelets. To look at the dirty round shells emerging from the rear end of birds, which contain a smelly yellow liquid when broken, and to dream up these fluffy golden delicacies took a man of imagination and enterprise. Or a woman, I don’t want to be shunned by my family
So I flew back a hundred millennia, landed in a lush tropical forest and zoomed down on a scene unfolding below.
A Stone Age man, wearing less than Salman Khan, was cautiously creeping down a clearing, clutching something close to his chest. It was a bunch of huge eggs, of an ostrich perhaps, or some now extinct species like the Dodo. He was keeping a wary eye out for predators, I felt. I followed him. We came across the remnants of a bush fire, burning embers, blackened tree stumps, smoke rising everywhere. My fly senses soon detected a stench. I noticed that my caveman had smelt it too, and followed his nose much like I did. I decided to call him Ungh, from the sound he seemed to be making when excited. We came across a brutal scene. A wild boar, to escape the fire perhaps, had taken refuge in a mud hole, and had been charred to death there. Excited, Ungh hurried to the spot, looking for a feast. In his hurry, he stepped on a flat rock that was still red hot and went flying, scattering eggs everywhere. The eggs crashed on the rocks, spilling their contents. Ungh looked dismayed. He had no means of carrying the spilt insides back to the cave. But he noticed that something funny was happening. The liquid yolk that had spilled on the hot rocks, instead of running into the mud, were spluttering and turning golden and solid. Forgetting his pain, Ungh stuck his finger in the stuff, and tasted it. His face showed delight. He proceeded to tear bits of the fried boar and bits of the fried eggs and had a hearty feast. I realized that I was witnessing the birth of the quintessential British breakfast of Bacon and Eggs, and also that English cooking hasn’t evolved in a hundred thousand years.
But this still wasn’t the omelet, so I decided to follow him home. There was Mrs Cavewoman, wearing less than Sunny Leone, so I will call her Ufff. I noticed a raw wound on her head, so realized that they were newlyweds. Ungh tried to describe the new delicacy with excitement, and offered her some. She wasn’t impressed, and when he couldn’t explain how it was made, made disparaging grunts. Some things, I realized, haven’t changed in a hundred thousand years.
Uff went back to survey the source of this new food. Her quick intelligence figured out the secret, and she carried back some smoldering sticks. Soon, a blazing fire adorned the cave much to everyone’s amazement. And on some rocks heated on this fire I saw Uff adding various bits of green stuff she had gathered, some rock salt, and crack more eggs to pour out the stuff within, throwing bits of game in it too. A wonderful stuffed omelet emerged, the first in the world. Uff must have been French.
More myths busted, the world’s first scientist and chef were women!
I decided to return with my findings to the kind Admins. Later I will try to find who invented the Chole Bature. And if my readers are convinced that this story wasn’t herbally inspired, I will reveal the secrets of Jerusalem and Kurukshetra.

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