A Perfect Egg

Like sunshine, of course,

This egg yolk pillowed in white.

Tomorrow may snow.

This morning’s temps are in the teens. The sun seems ever so slow to rise. I wonder how it is for the wild things. Do they, like me, feel themselves willing that great yellow orb up over the horizon, eager for what heat it might bring after such a cold winter night? I boil an egg.

A few years ago, I finally learned a reliable technique for getting an egg exactly as I like: the white cooked through, the yolk still mostly runny.

A kitchen timer is essential. Unlike almost any other cooking I do, I can’t see the transformation on a boiling egg that heat is effecting until it’s too late. Start with boiling water – an inch deep. Only then should you take the egg from the fridge. I read somewhere that the shock of cold egg in hot water pulls the membrane away from the shell, making the egg easy to peel without taking half the white with it. It works. Lower the egg carefully, so it doesn’t crack before you’ve even started. I use a spaghetti strainer – that utensil that looks like a cupped hand. Eight minutes, that’s my magic number. Then, run it under cold water for a few seconds. Voila, bon appetit.

By the time I’ve lopped off the egg’s top, the sun has crested the horizon. The sky is clear.  Soon – it’s a delicious anticipation – the sun’s rays will hit the kitchen windows’ glass, and my body will soften in the passive solar heat. Mornings like these, I feel every bit the animal I am.

*This post is part of a new project, a haiku a day throughout the year, that I’ve got going over here, on my author website.