Tastemade Teaches Us to Make Bad Eggs
My old roommate Paige is really into Tastemade videos—you know, those hyperfast, weirdly addicting recipe videos that autoplay on your Facebook feed, the ones that make even the most complicated souffle look like a 15-minute snap. Paige can tell you the differences between the Tastemade Snapchat channel and the Tastemade app. She can rattle off Tastemade personalities (Tastemakers?) like they are her close, personal friends. Sometimes I would come home from work and she’d be sitting in the dark, hunched over her phone, watching how to make Korean BBQ sliders or honey mustard sausage rolls or buffalo chicken bread bowls until the end of the world.
Of all the Tastemakers, Paige mostly loves Frankie Celenza—a goofy, tousle-haired chef who seems like the affable big brother from a Disney Channel Original Movie. “Frankie taught me how to make eggs,” she told me one day, like he’d popped by our apartment for a quick lesson.
I wanted to know more about Frankie, about Tastemade, and even—dare I say it—about eggs. So I watched the video with Paige. And I recorded everything that happened. Later, we made eggs Frankie-style. And they were gross.
Megan Kirby: What’s the last Frankie recipe you made?
Paige Marshall: Frankie recipes are impossible. Frankie makes his own pasta. You need to have, like, an extension on one of those special mixers to do that. I don’t even have one of those mixers. It’s basically impossible for me to make Frankie recipes. He made this cake with rum in it that looked so good, but this shit was bougie. Frankie’s bougie.
MK: Frankie’s bougie and you love him!
PM: Have you ever seen Frankie make scrambled eggs? Here it is, “Perfect Scrambled Eggs.”
Frankie Celenza: Today we’re going to make scrambled eggs--the perfect way to make scrambled eggs.
MK: Frankie doesn’t seem like your type.
PM: He seems like an intellectual!
MK: What do you like about him?
PM: Oh, god. He’s so charming. He listens to classic rock when he’s cooking.
MK: Like Lynyrd Skynyrd?
PM: What? No! Is that the only classic rock you know? You dumb bitch! No, not Lynyrd Skynyrd. Like The Beatles.
MK: Does he take requests? Can I write in to request Lynyrd Skynyrd?
FC: How about we go, egg directly into the pan, like this. Little bit of butter. Fire.
PM: Are you even watching this? He just put butter IN the scrambled eggs. Did not crack them beforehand.
MK: What? He cracked them, Paige. He just didn’t scramble the yolks.
PM: He didn’t whisk them! He just put butter in them!
FC: We’ve added no salt, we’ve added no cream.
MK: He looks like a nice college orientation leader.
PM: Like [boy we went to college with]. Always has been my vice.
MK: Yeah, you’re right. Or [other boy we went to college with].
PM: I love [boy from college]. I used to look at his Facebook every day.
FC: I’ll put some salt in, right at the end here.
PM: I would not want to eat these.
MK: Should we make them?
PM: No. I think I’d be grossed out.
FC: That, that is the perfect scrambled egg. Runny, gooey, soft.
MK: Wet eggs gross me out. Those eggs look bad.
PM: It’s just eggs. There’s no cheese.
FC: You would think I’d added cream or milk. It even looks like I put cheese, and I did not. The key to the perfect scrambled egg is being attentive, constantly stirring it, and pulling it early.
MK: Yeah, that’s what she said.
PM: Pulling it early?
MK: And stirring constantly.
FC: These are better than any ones you’ve ever had before. What did we do differently? Everything.