against the grain.

I have something to admit. (One of my dads favorite stories from our trip through Europe.) 
It's time to come clean.

At Gasthaus Esterhammer, I ate two soft boiled eggs from the hen basket.

At Gasthaus Esterhammer, they only make one soft boiled egg per guest.
Fact: Soft boiled eggs are delicious. Fact: Austrians makes some of the best. Fact: Once again, I, had two.

In my defense, I did not know that there was only one egg per guest. Did I need two eggs? Well, no, no one needs two eggs... but I sure as hell wanted both. And that day, at Gasthaus Esterhammer, welp, I had my cake, and I ate it too. After all, my parents always told me, "life isn't fair."

There were 12 guests. I sat by, eating egg no. 2, while watching guest no. 11 rummage his hand, stirring in the hen basket, coming up dry. No egg. He gathered some bread and jam, and sat down quietly.
I sat and watched. Guest no. 12, the wife of guest no. 11, hand in the basket, combing for an egg like a metal detector in the sand, clearly unaware of her husbands misfortune. (Ok, and my illustration of one of the seven deadly sins... gluttony.) What!? An egg?? Guest no. 12 came out victorious, egg in hand!

...and with her find, a shocking, questioning head shake of guest no. 11.
He pops up.
Hand back under the cotton feathers of the basket... another puzzled look. No egg.

I slowly swallow the last of egg no. 2, as puzzled as guest no. 11.

The good morning greetings of the Esterhammer Gasthaus owner stir quizzical conversation about the egg miscount; I go on to eat a roll, topped with lunch meats and cheeses.

The moral of this story? I may need to keep this necklace, after all, I can clearly override my guilt with a wash of fresh, carnivorous consumption.