Inktober Day 5 prompt- Chicken

I recently read that the timeless causality debate of the chicken and egg conundrum has been solved and the egg seems to have emerged winner. I'm fairly certain that anyone reading this is aware of the paradoxical metaphor that I'm referring to so  I'm going to jump right in. Oversimplifying it, the logic is that the like everything else, chicken too evolved from a non-chicken organism. Several ages ago there was a chicken- like bird (say X) that genetically resembled a chicken. X laid an egg, which was fertilised by a rooster from its species but fused in such a way that it resulted in mutation, accidentally making the baby different from its parents. Although it would take many millennia to be noticed, the egg was different enough to become the progenitor of a new species, now known as the chicken! (information referenced from: https://www.mnn.com/earth-matters/animals/stories/finally-answered-which-came-first-the-chicken-or-the-egg)

Rather than elaborate any further on this subject, I'd like to use it as a segue to discuss something far more important- eggs and PG Wodehouse, which is what this prompt somehow inspires me to write about. In the opinion of perhaps the least- cooking inclined person on the planet, eggs seem to be among the most versatile of ingredients, given that they seem to lend themselves to be cooked in a variety of ways, all of which I'm thoroughly proficient......... at greedily gorging on.  Pretty much all my knowledge of these many varieties comes from reading about Bertie Wooster's many, many meals during a day; invariably a staple component of most Jeeves and Wooster chronicles.

An extract from Jeeves and the Impending Doom reads-

“‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘I am not the old merry self this morning.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘No, Jeeves. Far from it. Far from the merry old self.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, sir.’

He uncovered the fragrant eggs and b., and I pronged a moody forkful.”

This is a classic tone at the heart of most Wooster stories where we have a moody Bertie unable to go about his day on an empty stomach.

Amongst my favourite egg- themed collection of stories is 'Eggs, beans and crumpets', recommended to me by a friend of mine. Since I knew that this guy was not a voracious reader, I figured that if he was recommending something, it had to be something he was able to get to the end of, immediately making it a must read for a compulsive Wodehouse freak like myself (pardon the repeat of the theme from the previous post). The anthology of stories feature several endearing characters from earlier Wodehouse works such as Bingo Little (who is now happily married to novelist Rosie Banks), Ukridge (who unsuccessfully tries to woo money with his many ploys of suspicious honesty) and of course, Mr. Mulliner.

Another gem of a story is 'Love Among the Chickens' which is the only novel built around Ukridge's escapades as far as I can recollect. Jeremy Garnet is the narrator who, much against his will is made to accompany Ukridge on holiday with his newest wife. Much of the story entails Garnet's attempts at courting the girl next door while simultaneously dealing with Ukridge's bizarre entrepreneurial ideas such as a chicken farm.

The last book I'd like to mention is 'Jeeves and the hardboiled egg' where one of Bertie's many financially hard- pressed friend 'Bicky' Bickerseth runs into, financial hot water (of course) and Jeeves' solution involves his uncle and a convention of men from Missouri.

Concluding with an extract from the book,

‘If only this had happened a week later, Bertie! My next month’s money was due to roll in on Saturday. I could have worked a wheeze I’ve been reading about in the magazine advertisements. It seems that you can make a dashed amount of money if you can only collect a few dollars and start a chicken-farm. Jolly sound scheme, Bertie! Say you buy a hen. Call it one hen for the sake of argument. It lays an egg every day of the week. You sell the eggs seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of hen costs nothing. Profit practically twenty-five cents on every seven eggs. Or look at it in another way: Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. The chickens grow up and have more chickens. Why, in no time you’d have the place covered knee-deep in hens, all laying eggs, at twenty-five cents for every seven. You’d make a fortune. Jolly life, too, keeping hens!’ He had begun to get quite worked up at the thought of it, but he slopped back in his chair at this juncture with a good deal of gloom.

‘But, of course, it’s no good,’ he said, ‘because I haven’t the cash.'”