Blizzard Poached Eggs
Posted: Feb 02 2015
This Sunday, Chicago saw its first blizzard of the season. To me, nothing is better than a snow day, and one that falls on a Sunday is down right perfect. It’s like a stolen day. Not only are you not expected to go anywhere or do anything (Mr. Jones and I are binge watching “Orange is the New Black”), it is perfectly acceptable to spend the whole day in your pajamas. I think you can all imagine how much I love that! And I am pretty sure a day of “comfort food” is mandatory. (Nothing is fattening when the mercury dips below 32 degrees Fahrenheit)
This blizzard, I decided to tackle something that has eluded me; the perfect poached egg. (It’s harder than you think.)
I started with the queen. Everyone who loves food should have this book! (Don’t worry, I’m not going to spend a year cooking everything, write a blog about it and then make millions when Bette Midler plays me in the movie).
Would you like to see my egg poaching adventure? Here we go!
Gather the ingredients. Pretty simple: pot of simmering water with a little added vinegar, bowl of cold water, slotted spoon, butter. (Ok, not really any butter, but I just love it and like to have it handy)
Gently place the egg in the simmering water, have it fall apart, curse, dump in the garbage. (You might have to repeat this step. For me it was repeated three times.)
Finally get it in the water without it falling apart. Spoon simmering water over the top. Leave it in the water for 3-5 minutes (depending on how soft you like your yolk). Remove with slotted spoon. Jump up and down because you finally got it right. Pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee.
Make some toast. If you are good at multi tasking (which I am not) you can simultaneously make the toast as you are poaching. If, like me, you burn the toast, feel free to dump it in the trash with the washed up eggs and start over. Don’t forget the butter!
Set a lovely breakfast table while patting yourself on the back for a job well done.
Invite your handsome Mr. to breakfast, insisting he wear his Sunday smoking jacket, as this is a special occasion. Do not tell him how many eggs ended up in the trash and blame the smell of burnt toast on the neighbors while he is gushing over how lovely breakfast looks. Sit yourself down and enjoy!