I don’t recall where it came from, but I loved this Alice Waters-ish anecdote I heard about a school kid on a farm visit refusing to eat a carrot pulled from the field because “it touched dirt.” Not that I mean to imply that I’m so much more salt of the earth. My suburban-raised self would have shuddered to feel something soft and feathery on the bottom of an egg while cracking a few open for a quick dinner frittata (making use of my roasted veggie leftovers–you taught me well, Rebecca!). These days, however, farm eggs so fresh they bring a bit of the nest along with them just feel so much cleaner somehow.