Prelude to a breakfast: Hot enough to fry an egg? Try it on a hood

Talk about a heat wave: Toronto has felt more like Calcutta this summer. How hot was it? It was so hot I recently spotted a dog chasing a cat in Hogtown - and they were both walking.

Cut to the chase: I wanted to confirm or debunk that timeless urban legend regarding cars and cooking. Namely, it has often been said a car's exterior can resemble a frying pan during a heat wave, becoming so hot that a wannabe Iron Chef can literally fry an egg on a car's hood. Yet, has anyone ever actually witnessed such a culinary activity?

I didn't think so...

In the interest of science, I decided to conduct a test run. On the hottest day of the year thus far - a day that featured 39C along with a humidex reading of half a gazillion degrees - I took my Honda Prelude out for a spirited highway jaunt to warm up its 2.2-litre engine. I then parked the car in the unforgiving sun, thereby ensuring it would resemble a habanero pepper. When the Prelude's hood was hot to the touch, out came the cooking utensils. Mmm-mmm... Chef Menzoid was famished, and it was time for a couple of sunny side eggs along with a side order of President's Choice bacon.

In truth, my cooking test got off to a disastrous start. When I cracked open the first egg and plopped it on to the hood, to my shock it zipped down the Prelude's aerodynamic hood like some alien life form making its escape. It bounced off the front bumper, splattering on the pavement, and soon emerged as a feast for some lucky red ants.
I proceeded to park the car on an incline to make the "cooking surface" more level. This new positioning worked, but it was all for naught. Upon carefully placing a few more eggs on the Honda's hood, I waited for the sparks to fly and the egg yolks to sizzle. Yet, even after 10 minutes, the only thing cooking was my cranium. Oh, sure, the bacon and eggs became extremely warm. But they were not cooked - they were more like half-baked. Much like my experiment.

At this point, the neighbourhood bully cycled by. He looked at my yolk-covered Prelude and sneered.

"Loser!" he said as he peddled off.

Alas and alack, another urban legend has bitten the dust. Or perhaps it simply wasn't quite hot enough in Toronto that day. Whatever the case, I am now trying to cope with an unexpected and unfortunate side effect: even after repeated washings, my car smells like a Denny's on wheels.