Europe is about to be hit by egg shortages

President Trump swerved in his “Liberation Day” event last week, speaking on an issue that has preoccupied America for months: the price of eggs. Trump said: “The first week I was blamed for eggs, I said, ‘I just got here.’ The price on eggs now is down 55 percent and will keep going down. They were saying that for Easter, ‘Please don’t use eggs. Could you use plastic eggs?’ I say, we don’t want to do that.”

Like him or not, Trump has a way of understanding the zeitgeist. The egg crisis is threatening to become global. It has displaced even Marine Le Pen as a subject of discussion at my village café. There was not a single carton of eggs on sale yesterday when I did my shopping at the Super U. How will I make my bacon and eggs? How will Mrs. Miller make her Hollandaise sauce?

The scarcity is ostensibly because of bird flu but is fueled by hoarding. The dynamic is similar to that which drove the scarcity of toilet paper during the pandemic. Although this is not the place to delve into the existential symbology of toilet rolls.

The egg holds its own profound religious and semiotic significance, symbolizing life and transformation. In Christianity, the egg is central to the celebration of Easter, symbolizing Jesus Christ’s resurrection. We hide eggs and set children to hunt them. So we have been preparing for this moment of hard-to-find eggs all our lives. In the Passover Seder, a hard-boiled egg (beitzah) on the Seder plate symbolizes the sacrifice offered at the Temple in Jerusalem.

Before Christianity, eggs were tied to spring festivals celebrating fertility and rebirth. Ancient peoples, including the Persians and Egyptians, exchanged eggs during equinox rituals.

In consumer culture, eggs signify nutrition and simplicity (e.g. “the incredible, edible egg” advertising campaign), yet their recent scarcity and price volatility turns them into economic barometers with political significance, layering secular meaning onto sacred roots. My local supermarket normally has shelves of eggs. Bio eggs. Free-range eggs. Extra-large eggs. Ordinary eggs. But there are none at all now, and this is apparently happening all over the country. Self-sufficiency is the obvious answer.

The trend of raising chickens has surged among the famous. King Charles has a grand 17ft-high hen house at Highgrove dubbed “Cluckingham Palace.” Meghan Markle and Prince Harry maintain “Archie’s Chick Inn” at their Montecito home. Tech bro Alexis Ohanian, the Reddit co-founder and husband of Serena Williams, raises four hens with their daughter, Olympia, who named them Bum Bum, Chickaletta, Minnie and Daisy. “Crazy chicken lady” Tori Spelling has reinvented herself as a “chicken whisperer” and keeps heritage breeds like Silkies (her hen Coco was once mistaken for a poodle). She’s designed outfits for them, including ponchos. The barrister Jolyon Maugham famously killed a fox with a baseball bat while wearing a kimono, defending his hens in central London.

Here in France, I have secured a private supply of eggs. I have a man

Hens cost between £15 and £40 each and housing them in suitable accommodation may not be practical for all. Chicken coops start at a couple of hundred pounds, assembly required, although there’s no upper limit if you wish to house your hens in palatial conditions. Baseball bats are available from Amazon. In Britain all hen keepers – even those with just one bird – must register with the Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs (Defra), with non-compliance now a criminal offence carrying fines or up to six months in prison under the Avian Influenza (Preventive Measures) Regulations. Similar regulations are on the way in the EU.

Here in France, I have secured a private supply of eggs. I have a man. It’s not quite like Lou Reed, up to Lexington, $26 in his hand scoring dope, but not entirely dissimilar. Private arrangements become necessary in these times. A very ancient neighbor who remembers rationing tells me that during the Occupation, sugar and olive oil were the key commodities on the black market. So perhaps I should be stockpiling those, too. I pride myself on my French but when I recently asked a waitress at a hotel in Paris for an œuf à la coque, she brought me a Coke, so I hope I can navigate this new crisis without too much dérangement.