A little bit of light-touch regulation would not go amiss as bureaucrats try to create level laying field for hens
THE EGG inspector hit town. Damn and blast this malodorous figure whose profession ranks among society’s bottom feeders. Like private clampers who prey on harried parkers and music rights detectives harassing hairdressers with a radio in the salon, the inspectors sent out to rid the world of contraband eggs leave a trail of negative energy in their wake.
These are days of simple pleasures and there is none more humble or exquisite than a farm egg. Scrambled, fried, soft or hard- boiled, in an omelette or a cake – our house ploughs through two dozen a week. We are obsessed with both technique and sourcing. What’s the point in debating the merits of poaching over boiling if the egg is the product of a miserable creature from a battery farm? We crave real eggs from real hens that wander about in the open all day.
I have dreamed of going into production myself and sighed over the hen-houses on chic-hens.ie – gorgeous painted affairs on stilts. Alas, the shortage of funds in the capital account and the long-term return on investment means I hesitate to order the penthouse for pullets.
Nor am I willing to risk a home-made effort knowing that Mr Fox’s skill in breaking and entering is far superior to my ability to construct a fortress that will keep him out. So like an emotional cripple I avoid disappointment by not getting involved.
I buy official eggs regularly, but enjoy the delicacy of true eggs through less formal supply chains. My uncle gives us a half a dozen a week in exchange for garden produce. But that leaves a shortage that has to be filled through the black market.
The system is an environmental dream in sustainability. Local farmers drop their surplus eggs into village shops. Just a few dozen come in a week so discerning consumers have to be quick to get them. Then we drop the boxes back for reuse. Obviously it’s easier in summer to maintain a good supply because the hens lay better and the foxes aren’t as determined.
Unfortunately the Egg Inspector is determined. Despite angry exchanges, within an hour of his arrival in the village last week the counter-tops were cleared of real eggs.
His power is drawn from EC 1039/2005, an amendment to Regulation 1907/1990 which lays down the law for egg producers. This requires the registration of producers who are subject to surveillance to ensure compliance with the usual plethora of rules relating to hygiene, date-stamping, grading and record- keeping. Like all regulations it costs a fortune to comply with and another fortune to enforce.
Fortunately, the Fourth Law of Legislation states there shall be no EC regulation without a corresponding derogation. The lawmakers recognised that low-income holdings for whom egg production is a mere sideline have great social and economic importance. They agreed that these “table eggs” should be available for sale and that member states could exempt producers with less than 50 hens from the regulations.
They recognised that an egg from a hen that’s been scratching around a farmyard is a perfectly fine product deserving of liberation from incomprehensible rules.
Unfortunately, Big Egg was hardly going to let common sense prevail and secured a key qualification to the exemption. The exemption applies only where the farmer sells his eggs directly from the farm, a local public market or door-to-door.
Once the eggs are sold through a third party, the hen must stamp her egg in accordance with the regulations.
Thus the Egg Inspector triumphantly pounced on the few boxes displayed on the shelf in our local shops.
What’s annoying is that the rules have nothing to do with the quality of the product. This is all about the commercial issue of market access. He who controls the channel dominates the market. If the battery egg and the farm egg sit on the same shelf then they must obey the same regulations – a level laying field if you will.
The fact that duck eggs are excluded from the regulations entirely is telling. There are no major producers so where there’s no money, there’s no law. You can sell a duck egg wherever you want.
I’m not entirely without sympathy for the position of the commercial producers. The demand that their competitors obey the same rules has some merit. Globalisation has led Irish beef farmers to complain that they must comply with endless rules and yet compete with Brazilian beef produced free from rules and regulations. But there is a principle and there is pettiness. A few dozen eggs a week during the summer months hardly represent a threat to the margins of major egg producers. Yet the Government sees fit to pay officials to travel the country stamping out unstamped eggs. How about a little light-touch regulation for poultry?
Needless to say the clampdown has simply forced the trade underground – or rather under the counter. Yesterday as I went about my foraging I asked for some “eggs” while significantly raising my eyebrows. I got a significant nod in response and the precious package was surreptitiously placed in my bag.
I’m sure if Michael McDowell was in power he’d be gravely warning about middle-class recreational users of illegal substances supporting criminality. But criminalising the egg-loving community is surely unwise. It drives us into the black economy where who knows what illegally sourced products are traded. From good eggs to anarchy – won’t someone stop the madness?