I wake up and my legs feel a bit like scrambled eggs; that sort that taste of burnt pan and have wilted to a windy gray. It’s a day drowned in rain. Another one. And my home feels so comforting I wonder if I might be convinced to never leave. I think my cats would most likely warm to this idea, they seem perturbed that I’ve been spending nights out at pubs and wine lounges and just plain dive bars. I know because she’s slipped her paw into my sorrel and done some sort of abstract art on the counter with the fallout. I know because he’s intensely needy. He just wants pets, so so many pets. Neither will detach from my hips.
My body has gone and gotten frustrated with me as well. “You’re not a drinker,” it says to me. And, of course, it’s right. My skin feels like a shrunken wool sweater and my soul feels a little weary. So I’m grateful for the rain – it’s an excuse to shutter myself inside. And I’m grateful for the time well spent with friends whom we so rarely see. But I’d be equally (and more so) as grateful for something wholesome and unpetrified by either sugars or alcohol. Because, goodness knows, I’ve imbibed and partaken of plenty of alcoholic beverages and sweet treats over the last fistful of days.
One night before the 2nd and I teetered out on an outing we slipped in a snack. We pregamed it. We decided that we wanted something a bit more thoroughfare than trufflized flatbreads or honeyed tater tots (not that there’s anything remotely wrong with either of those two dishes). I’d been reading bunches about eggs lately (Lucky Peach has just released a very tempting book on this subject) and I had a faint recollection of someone evangelizing about eggs with a knob of butter. Now, I’ll admit, I’m not one for chowing on hard-boiled eggs on the regular. I usually toss the little globes of magic into flours and other witches’ brew to come out the other side with something altogether different. But, seeing as it was directly after yoga, I was spent and I was of the firm inclination to not fix anything too fussy.
In my half-way exhausted state, I smacked a pot of water onto the stove, let it come to a boil and spooned in some eggs. Bon Appetit has divulged that in order to get the jammiest eggs you ever could imagine, you boil them for exactly six and a half minutes. So I did exactly that – plucked them out on the nose and got to peeling. After sprinkling the eggs with some other accoutrement (because I can never leave well enough alone) we sliced our pre-supper in two and let the butter and yolk muddle.
Hands down it was the most satisfying snackage I have ever had the pleasure of devouring.
Most likely, next week I’ll get a hankering for something indelibly sweet. But, for now, this pot of simple eggs will do. It will do quite nicely.
Epicurious’ Jammy Eggs:
- As many eggs as you please
- A bowl of ice water – big enough for your eggs to bathe in
- A pot full of water – big enough for your eggs to sink into
- ½ T of butter or so for every egg
- A healthy smattering of salt and pepper (to taste)
- A good helping of accoutrement – try sorel, basil, and any and all alliums!
- Bring your pot of water to boil. With a slotted spoon or a ladle, dip your eggs into the hot water – careful not to splash yourself! Boil for EXACTLY 6 minutes and 30 seconds. Fetch them out of their hot water and let them sit in ice water for about 2 minutes. Peel and serve! Easy peasy!