Ever since discovering Julia Child, I've had something of a fascination with one thing:
Poached eggs.
I mean, how is it possible, to boil an egg, without the protective cover of a shell? Doesn't the egg just turn into egg-water, like rosary water but with more protein? How is it possible to make something solid, which is only half so, and delicate as a newborn at that?
So, I finally decided to try it. I regularly make a scene in whatever kitchen I am current inhabiting, be it my parents', grandparents', friends', or one in this community where I used to live and volunteer. With that, what would make more sense then making one away from home, where everyone stands around and watches?
Yeah. I couldn't do it either.
Now, with the delicate cooking of a raw egg, one of the most important things (or to clarify, the only thing you really need, above all else) is an egg. And not just a drug-store egg; a fresh, I know-where-to-find-another egg. These days, it's either really easy to answer that call, or it isn't. Personally, I don't know anyone in the current perifory of my house who has chicken squatters. Luckily, this place does, in addition to great pottery. And as read, I recently did some traveling. So, what would make more sense then coming home not only with a new outlook, a happy heart, a sandwich, but also some eggs? Nothing, I know.
With my fresh eggs in luggage, and the inspiration of several food blog entries of some talented and interesting folks, I set to work. I used my love to simmer one inch of water. READ: cast iron skillet. I broke the egg into a small, glass pyrex dish, and waited. Soon, I saw the small bubbles at the bottom of the earthy pan, just as I had been instructed. Then, steam. Finally, small bubbles on the surface.
Taking my knife, I stirred the water to create a whirlpool, as others had instructed. Then, holding my luck in my hand and the pyrex in the other, I slipped the egg into the pan. Waiting a second, and then stirring the water slowly, hoping for the best effect, I waited. It turns out, I didn't need to stir the water once the egg was submerged; instead of solidifying the egg, the stirring only released a lace-like stream of whites into the water. Still, I was hopeful.
After a minute or two, I scooped the egg out, with a slotted spoon.
And then, I ate it, with seedy toast.
It was perfect. Oooey, gooey, yolk, surrounded by a solid, tender, white.
The next time I made it, however, I didn't use the cast-iron skillet. Also, I didn't wait for the water to be hot enough. So what did I make?
Egg-water.
.
