If you live in a cave, then you were probably camping and this explains why, no doubt, you were among the first to hear about Ziploc omelets.

Though I had no luck in determining the origins of this nifty camper's recipe, it likely originated out of necessity (like 'smores) or an accident (like the vulcanization of rubber) but unfortunately for me, my Ziploc omelet tasted a bit like a combination of the two aforementioned.

It began with an innocent email from my Dad. He said, 'Son, here is a neat recipe you may want to try:

Take one Quart-size Ziploc bag and add the following ingredients:

Two eggs (crack them open first), a half a handful of grated cheese, some chopped ham, green pepper, onions or tomatoes, salt and pepper and anything else you would put in a normal omelet.

Now burp out the excess air and then squeeze the bag like you're massaging a golf ball out of an eel.' (Did I mention that my Dad is a card?) 'Plop the bag into a pan of boiling water and let it cook for about fifteen minutes.

Your Ziploc omelet should roll right out onto the plate. Enjoy!'

I love my Dad, but his cooking skills are still under construction, so I surfed the internet to verify this outlandish idea before I committed any eggs.

Sure enough, I found many different variations of ingredients for 'omelet in a bag' but the technique was the same. Because I like to camp, and because Mrs. A once accused me of being a caveman, I had to try it.

Safeway is expanding their organic product line, so I swung by there for some veggies. Marlene's has really great organic eggs too, and so armed with the freshest Federal Way has to offer I made my way home to the kitchen. Once there, I realized that I'd forgotten the most important part-Ziploc bags.

I dug around in the pantry, but I could only find one. I knew Mrs. Anthony would flip for an omelet (my joke) so I had to come up with another bag. In the very bottom of the lunch drawer was one more bag and though it was a little smaller I decided to use it.

The first part of the recipe is like any other omelet. I chopped up the goodies, adding some of Mrs. A's favorites, a little avocado and some goat cheese. Smooshing the stuff together in the bags was sort of fun too. When the water came to a boil I put the bags in and tucked them down, being careful not to let the edges get near the gas flame. I set the timer for fifteen minutes and then put some tea water on and cut up some raisin bread for toast. At about minute eight, I checked on the progress and noticed some egg in the water.

This isn't good. I picked up the first, big Ziploc bag and it seemed fine, though only half cooked. To my horror, however, the other bag had disintegrated into a conglomeration of plastic, avocado and egg.

No wonder they call it a Ziploc omelet: I had had the temerity to buy cheaply made freezer bags and now this was my result - A Sloplet.

I heard Mrs. A stirring around upstairs, so I had to move fast. I scooped the eggsplosion out and put it aside, and put the good omelet bag back in the water. After picking the plastic chunks out, I put the sloplet into the dog dish and summoned the hounds. Zeke got there first and the evidence was gone in less than the time it takes to say, 'Honey, breakfast is ready.'

Mrs. Anthony did not notice the slightly unusual shape of the Ziploc omelet, more squarish than rectangular, but she did notice that it was fluffier and moister than my usual deep-fried version. She wrinkled her cute eyebrows, 'Did you do something different with this one?'

Zeke scooted up as if he might let the egg out of the bag (so to speak). I gave him a mental command to lay back down. In the end, I caved and we both agreed that the regular pan-made omelet allows for sauteed ingredients, which is tastier. In a pinch, though, the higher quality Glad-brand bags could be handy, especially if you like to camp, or live in cave.