Other than eggs over something, I had no plan, really.
I coated a small pan with extra virgin olive oil and while it warmed over a low flame I retrieved the ceci.
It looked sad and cold, sitting in the container. I knew it would cool the pan immediately, but there would be a moment when my hand wouldn't be affected by the heat. A moment I'd be able to mash the ceci with a fork. Some, anyway. Texture.
I rinsed the bowl and brought it back to the stove. I cracked two eggs into the bowl. I mashed the ceci with a fork. I salted and peppered. I flicked the pan, flipping the ceci.
It sizzled. Crackled. Browned.
And then I poured the eggs into the pan. Right on top. They spread and settled. Salt. Pepper. Lid. Wait.
Steam and sizzle.
When the eggs had set, I turned off the flame.
I slid the concoction into a bowl and placed it at my spot at the table. A napkin. A fork. A glass of water.
I cut into the eggs over fork mashed ceci. It was firm and almost in need of a knife. For the ceci had latched onto egg and crisped to a perfect golden.
I knew there would be a crunch and, a nutty, savory, eggy finish. There was.
It hadn't looked like much, but it had exceeded all my expectations.