Hi! I'm Lucy. Have you ever seen an egg dance? I have. And today I'm going to tell you how my Grandma Rosa taught me the most magical secret of my whole life: the secret of the Dancing Egg.
The Sunday Mystery
It was just a regular Sunday. I woke up early (which is rare for me) because we had planned to go spend the day at Grandma's house. Carlos, my older brother, was grumbling because he wanted to stay in bed. And Raquel, my little sister, was jumping on my bed singing "We're going to Grandma's! We're going to Grandma's!".
When we arrived, Grandma was waiting for us with a huge smile and something shiny in her hands.
The Magic Little Pan
—Good morning, my treasures. Today I'm going to show you something very special. Lucy, you will be my main assistant because you are the most curious one in the family.
I ran down the stairs in my pajamas. In the kitchen, on the table, there was an old iron skillet with flowers painted on the handle. It didn't look special, but Grandma looked at it like it was a treasure.
—This pan belonged to my grandmother, and to my grandmother's grandmother. It's over a hundred years old, and in all this time, it has never stopped making magic on Sundays.
Grandma turned the heat on very low. She poured a little olive oil and waited. I watched without blinking.
—Now comes the important part —she said—. You have to hold the egg with both hands, close your eyes, and think of something that makes you happy. Then, crack it into the pan very carefully.
I did exactly what she said. I thought about my dog Luna, about beach days, and the stories Grandma told me. I cracked the egg and... something incredible happened!
The yolk started to dance. I'm not exaggerating. It moved from one side of the pan to the other, doing little jumps, as if it were dancing an ancient dance. The white formed perfect swirls around it, like a shiny white dress.
—Do you see it? —Grandma whispered—. When you cook with love and patience, even eggs dance.
We stood in silence, watching. The egg kept dancing for two more minutes, moving to the rhythm of something only it could hear. Then, little by little, it stood still. The yolk perfectly golden in the center, the white crispy on the edges.
Grandma served it on a plate with a slice of freshly made rustic bread.
—This egg has a special power —she explained while we ate breakfast—. Every Sunday that you use The Magic Little Pan and make the egg dance, that day will be a good day. A day full of laughter, patience, and beautiful moments.
And she was right. That Sunday was wonderful. We played cards, took a walk in the park, and in the afternoon we made cookies. There was no shouting, no rushing, no angry faces.