My breakfast each and every day is one hard boiled egg.
I started doing it as a part of some soon abandoned diet I was trying, probably one of those low carb types. I used to eat an English muffin, which incidentally isn't English but originated in New York City.
I prefer the Eggland jumbo variety of egg. Kathie is always singing the praises of the organic sort, but I don't like them because they are hard to peel and the shell always sticks to the egg. It starts my day off badly when I crunch into an errant piece of shell that sets off a sound and sensation inside my head like I have just chomped down on a ten penny nail.
Maybe they inject shell lubricant in the Eggland products, but they always peel perfectly. They also have a cute little red trade mark on the fat end that turns pink during boiling.
One of the sensual pleasures of eating the egg is the way the shell strips off in one long piece and falls to the plate, revealing the soft, lustrous flesh.
I always stroke the naked egg with my thumb to be certain no shell bits remain.
Next, I have to decide which end of the egg to bite into first. I hate taking the first bite and right away getting mostly yolk because this means I will be left with a mouthful of all white at the end. Awaiting the arrival of this blob of rubbery slime, tarnishes the rest of my eating experience.
I like to get the white eating out of the way first, so that I know the rest of the way, down to the last bite, will be a balanced blend of yummy yellow and white goodness. Egg eating is all about balance.
It is my experience that as many eggs have their yolk oriented towards the fat end as toward the pointy one. I don't know why this should be so. You would think the yolk would be squarely in the middle, but it almost never is. The way they are oriented in the carton, whether fat end up or down, does not seem to be a factor in where the yolk winds up after cooking.
Also, I always put them in the pot on their sides. You would thing the semi-liquid nature of a raw egg would cause the yolk to seek the middle when put on its side. It doesn't, or I should say, it doesn't always happen.
No big deal though, because I employ what I call "finger sonar" to find the white end. I tap each end of the egg, and when I feel the rubbery resistance that indicates the presence of the white, I dig in. Like many backyard barbecuers, I use this technique to test the doneness of burgers and steaks. In that context, it is almost fool proof.
It's iffier with eggs and I locate the white end about eight times out of ten tries.
To me, salt is a very important part of egg eating, but, then again, I am a person who would salt his ice cream if it didn't make it melt.
I sprinkle some on that first bite and it is a real eureka moment when I have snapped off the dreaded white bite is one clean chomp. Kathie frequently hears a triumphant "Ha! I got you, you white bastard" coming from the kitchen.
I then make a little pile of salt on my plate and press the now concave end of the egg into it. With its rim of salt, it reminds of my margarita glass before I have taken the first sip of the glorious contents.
Several bites and breakfast is done and I am on about my chores and errands.
Stay tuned for the next blog in this series: "How to Butter Toast."