The Goose Egg

A few weeks ago, we went to Pengethly Garden Centre to buy some compost. Like all of these places you leave with more than you originally set out to buy; in this case two bags of compost, two dwarf rhododendrons, eggs—six chicken and three duck—and one Goose Egg – capitalised because of its size. I’d never seen a Goose Egg before, (a sheltered life) but once seen it immediately soared to the top of my bucket list and ticked off with the reckless swipe of the debit card. 

They found me a special box and green tissue paper for my Goose Egg, and on the long journey home I nestled it between my legs, resisting the urge to honk. 

Aphrodite, for reasons best known to herself, occasionally rode a large goose. I wondered if the egg suddenly hatched, would I turn into Aphrodite; or was I in fact Leda, hatching the egg of Nemesis and Zeus . . . and what would my wife say if Helen of Troy unexpectedly appeared between my thighs. 

Funny thing, geese. In the air they’re referred to as a skein, on land as a gaggle and around the world they’re associated with creation or death.

 In Egyptian creation myths, the cosmic goose, Kenkenwer—the great cackler— was reputed to have laid the cosmic egg from which the world was born, and the Egyptian God, Geb was often painted with a goose on his head. 

He, too, was a great cackler and adds a further thread (if we needed one) to the current controversy between gender and sex. According to another Egyptian myth, it was Geb who laid the cosmic egg from which the sun emerged every morning. Geese are everywhere in mythology. 

In Hindu mythology, two divine birds called the Hamsa in the form of geese, sometimes swans, laid an egg on the cosmic ocean from which the Creator God Brahma was born. Like Aphrodite, he too rode a goose, clearly the only way to travel. Siberian Shamans were of a similar mind, soaring over mountains and tundra on geese.

Across the world, geese have been associated with death, carrying or embodying the souls of the recently departed. Tibetan female spirit guides—the dakini— were seen as voluptuous goose-headed women, which is both off-putting and weird. But as Monmouth approached, the first stirrings of unease emerged: Was it sacrilege to boil, scramble or fry something so sacred? 

As things transpired, I was faced with more material problems—not should I, but how to cook the damn thing.

To big for egg cups

Inspiration! Pestle and Mortar!

Back to the drawing board

It was even too big for an omelette pan, but a full sized skillet did the trick.

And with Oxford Sauce, of course - as a tribute to the gods

So far, I have not incurred Aphrodite's wrath.