Tonight marks my first attempt at checking off an item on my “Cooking Conquests" page! While I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to speak on taste, (I’m concerned with the eggs becoming too rubbery post-micro), visually and sensorially I was impressed with this evening’s conquest.
The recipe (and photos) that inspired me to make these cute little egg cups can be found on The Garden Grazer blog. With what I thought were almost expiring egg whites in my fridge, and no HBEs left for the week (ah!), I felt inclined to act! Here’s the resulting recipe:
If you’re anything like me, you love eggs. (I even wrote a short story on my blog devoted to them). Omelets, sunny side up, fried, scrambled, over easy—my goodness there are so many varieties and ways to cook these precious little Humpty Dumpty’s it makes my mouth water.
But there’s one form, that’s particularly hard to perfect (no pun intended). And that’s the hard-boiled egg (HBE). Must have that name for a reason. At least for me, it was always a struggle for consistency. Do you put the eggs in cold water and bring them to a boil, and then start timing? Do you boil the water first? Ice water? I’ve never done that! How many minutes? That arbitrary range of time can be quite tricky, I agree. Ah, I think it’s done. Grab the egg, crush it on the counter; you then make a casual attempt to peel your snack and wait—what? What the? WHY IS MY SHELL CRACKING in 500 pieces!!! #firstworldpains
Fellow tumblees, that has been me. I’ve been where you’ve been—in the kitchen, by the stove, striving for perfection and falling short each and every time. That is, until my colleague Margaret (she goes by “Mad”), shared with me a flawless method that guarantees a perfect HBE. Every. Single. Time.
DONE. And if your shell cracks into anything more than two smooth halves, please do give me a call.
Grammatical Disclaimer: I know AP style says that whole numbers one through nine should be spelled out. In this post, I’ve used the actual numeral as a visual aid and complement to the recipe.
When I applied for an associate position at Ogilvy several months back, one section of the application said, “Write a short story using 100 words or less on a topic of your choice.” Thankfully, this was prior to the Twitter epidemic—otherwise I probably would have been lucky to get 140 characters.
My decision to share this story with you was inspired by my satisfied craving today, thanks to my favorite local deli. They make the greatest egg sandwich of all time, as you can see. But for the record, my self-taught variation is a very close second place.
Anyways, when I think of myself, how can I not think of eggs? I love them…who doesn’t? Besides Vegans. At college I went through nearly a dozen Jumbo egg cartons a week. Sorry, let me break the jargon down for you:
In egg-retail, Jumbo eggs are two sizes bigger than the “Large” size, which is standard for baking. Respectively, Extra Large, is big and little brother to Large and Jumbo—chicken in the middle, if you will.
I expect you may have learned something new, as I was a stranger to Jumbo until I began grocery shopping for myself. Either way, I hope you enjoy this simple story that epitomizes my dietary lifestyle…
The level six heat erupts from the gas stovetop, arriving in its signature blue form. Clank goes the pan on the stove, butter sizzling as it slips and slides across the non-stick surface.
Two Jumbo, Grade AA eggs dive whites-first into the eight-inch round frying pan with seamlessly unscathed yolks. The whites, released from a shell-tered life, transform from cloudy to snow white as they cook.
With a slight tilt, they slither sunny side up from pan to plate—steam radiating from the yellow yolks ready to burst with the touch of a tine.