From childhood most mornings, when my mom made hot breakfast, I was too distracted by my hatred of scrambled eggs to fully appreciate her efforts. That lumpy, wet, faintly sulfurous pile with that lurking stringy white bit was my morning enemy. I toyed with the eggs as long as I could to avoid eating them and then gagged down mouthfuls between gulps of milk.

My aversion wasn’t just to scrambled eggs I disliked preparations involving separate whites (rubbery!) and yolks (gooey or chalky!) even more. Scrambled was my nemesis, and hard-boiled was my kryptonite. Once I hit my 20s, I wanted very much to like eggs an inexpensive, versatile protein source that everyone else loved. I hoped to enjoy brunch with friends without feeling like I was still rebelling in my mom’s kitchen.

I found a solution right where I’d found my aversion: in texture. I realized I had no problem tolerating the slight eggy flavor of egg-centric baked goods such as lofty egg-leavened sponge cakes and foamy soufflés, and I loved egg fried rice and other sweet dishes made from holy egg. Any dish in which egg whites were whipped into a puffy, magical cloud , I was totally on board with.

And it was that technique whipping the egg whites that, when applied to savory egg dishes, led me to stop worrying and learn to love eggs. The specific recipe that changed my mind came from my Naani, who, in the ladylike tradition of luncheon dishes, made a whipped egg white dish that landed somewhere between a frittata and a Halwas. When I first bit into that fluffy omelet, more than 2 decades ago, the dreamy interior and just-crisped edges washed away memories of breakfasts past, setting me on a path to appreciating all eggs (OK, maybe not hard-boiled). Over time, I’ve switched up the cheese and flavorings, scaled this dish up and down, and eaten it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

 They say you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs — but I’m glad I broke my anti-egg vows to make this one. Here goes my recipe for perfect and fluffy egg