An egg is an egg is an egg

“A ROSE is a rose is a rose” once wrote Gertrude Stein in her poem “Sacred Emily.” To that effect, after tasting what happens to be one of the world’s most famous omelets (praised by Ernest Hemingway and Yves Saint Laurent) from French restaurant La Mère Poulard, I can now say: an egg is an egg is an egg.

The French restaurant is a relic from the late 1800s, built on an even older relic, the island of Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy, France. The community has prospered since the Middle Ages, and its crowning glory is its monastery, its spire pointing to the heavens as if reaching for God himself. Pilgrimages to the monastery was one of the reasons for La Mère Poulard’s creation. The restaurant was founded by Annette Poulard, and the omelet came about to feed the pilgrims efficiently and quickly.

What is so special about this egg? Its branch in SM Aura, its first in the Philippines (and its third in Asia, following two branches in Japan) boasts of an open kitchen, where chefs in toques beat the eggs in a rhythm, transforming into a song, that lasts from five to 15 minutes. The egg, made fluffy by aeration from the rhythmic whisking, is quickly fried and folded, and comes out of the pan looking like a large yellow sponge, bouncing and fluffing up and steaming on the plate. It is a sight to behold, honestly, the three eggs that went into it becoming bigger than a child’s face, its bright yellow tint reminding one of the sun, and breakfasts by a seaside town.

Once you get past the technical mastery handed down from one generation to another, and the fluffy texture on the outside, concealing a gooey center: well, really — it tasted identical to the omelets my mom used to make. And those eggs, I got for free. This little whopper with a side of bacon and potato, costs up to P420. If you’re feeling a little bit more generous, there’s a tiger prawn and ratatouille option at P550.

After Mme. Poulard’s death in 1931, the restaurant came into the hands of her children, who then decided to sell it to Eric Vannier, who in the 1990s, expanded the restaurant into an inn, a biscuit company, and a worldwide venture. His son, Leo, emphasized that the restaurant’s aim is to promote French cuisine beyond its haute cuisine impressions.

“We want people to know that French cuisine is not just high gastronomy and expensive dinners,” he said. After all, Mme. Poulard, of humble origins, began her cooking career working in Paris as a servant of an architect. The senior Mr. Vannier, meanwhile, spent a large part of his childhood in Mont Saint-Michel, and had long dreamed of possessing Mme. Poulard’s restaurant, because his grandmother, an astute cook herself, had learned from La Mère (mother) herself, Annette.

“It was a magical place for the family,” the younger Mr. Vannier recalled. “Mont Saint-Michel is a magical place. We don’t want to keep the product like this in a small place in the world.” — JLG