Yes. We had eggs for dinner. It was Monday. I'm not going to apologize.

I can feel the judgment. My mother-in-law, if she knew, would get that particular expression — not angry, just confused, like I've made a navigational error that doesn't quite compute. "Eggs? For dinner?" And then she'd pivot to asking whether the children are getting enough protein, which they are, because eggs are protein, which is partially the point.

So let me make my case.

First: it was 5:45 on a Monday. Sam had already handled bath the night before and I had explicitly promised to handle dinner all week, a statement I made with full sincerity on Saturday when I was rested and optimistic. Monday at 5:45 I was neither of those things. I was a person who had spent eight hours in meetings, picked up two children from two different places, and was standing in the kitchen looking at the refrigerator like it owed me something.

What was in the refrigerator: eggs, butter, a wedge of parmesan that had been open too long, half a zucchini, some wilting spinach, and the distinct absence of any protein I had planned to use and failed to thaw.

Second: nobody was going to starve. We had eggs. Eggs are food. Six eggs, adequately cooked, will feed four people. This is not deprivation. This is dinner.

Third — and this is where I think I actually win the argument — I made a frittata.

Not scrambled eggs. Not "sorry, just eggs." A frittata, which is eggs beaten with parmesan and salt and pepper, poured over sautéed zucchini and spinach, cooked low on the stove for five minutes until the edges set, then slid into a 375-degree oven for twelve minutes until it puffs up slightly and looks like something you'd serve to someone you were trying to impress.

The frittata is my sophistication play. It takes twenty-three minutes and costs maybe four dollars total and it looks like something that required a plan. It is, technically, a baked egg dish with vegetables. It is, also technically, a fancy way to say I scrambled eggs with stuff and used the oven. But the frittata comes out in one golden round piece that you slice like a pie and serve in wedges, and something about that geometry makes it feel like dinner.

You can find the version I make most often at Weeknight Frittata — it's the same principle but I've listed the vegetables in order of how long they take to cook, which is the one actual skill involved.

Audrey ate her wedge with the zucchini picked out and deposited in a neat pile at the edge of her plate. She asked why there were green things in the eggs. I said they were vegetables and she said "I know they're vegetables" in the tone of someone who has been gravely insulted. She ate the rest of it. James ate his in approximately ninety seconds, with his hands, and then asked for more, which is as close to a Michelin star as I'm going to get on a Monday.

Sam ate hers and said "this is actually really good" in the voice of mild surprise she uses when I cook something that works, and I chose not to take offense because she's right to be mildly surprised and also because the frittata was actually really good.

$0.65 per person. Twenty-three minutes. One pan that goes from stovetop to oven, which means one pan to wash.

Now. The counterarguments.

"But eggs are breakfast food." This is a cultural convention, not a law. Eggs are protein. Protein is dinner. The time of day at which you consume eggs is not enforced by any authority.

"But it's not a real dinner." Define real dinner. Is it caloric? Yes. Nutritious? Yes. Does it contain vegetables and protein and enough fat to keep a person satisfied? Yes. The frittata is more balanced than most of the things I cook when I'm trying to make something that looks like a real dinner.

"But the children—" The children ate it. Both of them. Without significant negotiation. Audrey staged a brief protest about the zucchini but ultimately ate everything else and did not hold it against me at bedtime. This is the best possible outcome for a Monday.

I have eggs for dinner about once a week. Not because I've failed to plan, though sometimes I've failed to plan. Because eggs are reliably the thing that works when the alternative is ordering pizza and feeling bad about it or making pasta and feeling vaguely uninspired. The frittata in particular has gotten to a point where I can make it in my sleep, which on a Monday at 5:45 is precisely the capability I need.

My mother-in-law, if she's reading this: the children are healthy. They eat vegetables. They eat protein. They are, by every available metric, fine.

We had eggs for dinner. It was good. I'm going to do it again.