While the greatest obstacle to my proposed chicken coop (short of the obvious legal prohibition of livestock in the urban district) has been my farming-agnostic spouse, I think I made some progress last week convincing him that farm-fresh eggs really are better than store-bought.
My friend Carrie Ferguson Weir, founder of Los Pollitos Dicen (The Little Chicks Say) children's Spanish T-shirt line, recently brought me a dozen guinea eggs from her non-urban farm in Kingston Springs, and I sprung them on my brood for breakfast.
First impression from the little Foxes? Small. Yes, children, guinea eggs are about 70 percent the size of the eggs we usually buy at the store. (No, that's not just a really big-handed person in the above photo, which I swiped from Carrie's blog, Bilingual in the Boonies.)
First impression from their egg-scrambling father? Hard. Yes, honey, a guinea shell is tougher than the paper-thin specimens you usually crack. Just lean into it a little.
Most impressive was the taste. With a high yolk-to-white ratio, the guinea eggs were unexpectedly dense and golden. Stirred with a little milk, they yielded a fluffy, almost custardy, scramble, not to mention a slightly begrudging acknowledgment that maybe a chicken tractor behind the garage wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
In short, one breakfast of fresh guinea eggs makes a more effective case for raising chickens than any amount of henpecking ever could.