Saturday, October 22, 2011
Give me a rubber spatula and I will confidently scramble you soft, foldy delicious eggs til the cows come home. Poached eggs are a slightly different story, and I am yet to truly master the art of the perfectly poached egg. I've come close, and the results are generally edible. Competent, I most certainly am but impatient? Probably just a little.
Perfect with asparagus (roasted, or course) I went with poached eggs for brunch this morning. I used the magic trick of a tablespoon of white vinegar, but I was careless in my placement of each egg into the simmering water. I've heard that lowering them gently into the water on a giant spoon keeps the yolk nicely encased in the white in those crucial initial phases of poaching, but my sloppy uncoordinated use of a ramekin meant mine swiftly looked like this (an undesirable outcome, believe me):
With some temperature adjustment and some water skimming, they came together alright. I always swore by the slotted spoon for perfect poached egg removal; from spoon to teatowel to plate to avoid soggy toast. But I have a friend who recently alerted me to the superior merits of using the humble potato masher. I have to say these were probably not the best poached eggs to try on, given their slightly disconnected nature, but the potato masher trick was a winner.
Definitely not my finest work, but delicious nonetheless. Served with roasted asparagus, and buttered vogels toast, and cracked pepper and salt, I also gave them a tiny wee drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, a garnish trick I stole from a recent trip to Martinborough. The only thing missing was coffee. And a nice glass of juice. And the paper. And sunshine streaming in. And maybe a brunch companion. Ah well. I gave it a good go. Happy Saturday everyone!