Every morning, at approximately 8.04am, listeners to the Chris Evans Breakfast Show will hear the tinny voice of Helen O'Connell singing "How d'ya like your eggs in the morning?" Those of us who don't fumble around for the nearest blunt instrument to slam down on the snooze button (or at least those who don't make it in time) will hear Dean Martin state proudly that he likes his eggs with a kiss. Good for you Dean. From my experience, however, it takes a little more than a healthy dose of PDA to turn some eggs into the perfect breakfast. There is nothing quite like the disappointment one experiences when someone doesn't make your eggs just how you like them, especially in the morning.
Working the breakfast shift in a cafe will inevitably mean spending a rather long time discussing eggs. Poached or fried? Hard or soft? White or brown toast? ( Let me say now that I've made a personal vow never to let the words "sunny side up" ever escape my lips). It also entails spending a long time scraping the remains of the unloved eggs into the dustbin, and seeing that there are those who will only eat the yolk of a soft-boiled egg, and will leave the rest. Sacrilege. Still, the experience has shown me, to my relief (but mostly my amusement), that I am obviously not the only person who feels like getting the eggs perfect is an exact science.
My favourite requests so far:
"Supremely hard-boiled please."
"None of that wibbly-wobbly stuff if you don't mind."
"I want them extra stiff."
And why shouldn't we be particular about it? After all, the humble egg forms a fundamental part of the Great British Breakfast, along with Weetabix and PG Tips. We all know that nothing will set you up for an exam or a long day at work quite like eggs for brekkie. And we're not the only ones either -- you can find them boiled or fried on top of the foul medames eaten in Egypt, or whisked into the feathery omelettes consumed with rice and soy sauce by the Japanese (or at least by all the Japanese students I once shared a kitchen with.)
So why the obsession? We're know they're good for us (incredibleegg.org tells me they contain the best type of protein found in any food -- score!) but I like to think there's something symbolic about eating eggs too. They are simple, versatile, filling and cheap. They make for comforting and wholesome meals, especially at the start of the day when you'd rather be hiding under the duvet. There's even something satisfying about simply holding one in your hand, smooth and oval-shaped, ever so fragile. Eggs are, after all, where we all begin. A sign of new life, expectation and change. And are these not dissimilar to our emotions in the morning? With every boiled, poached or scrambled dish of that example of nature's genius that is the egg, how can we not but feel buoyed up, invigorated and excited about the day ahead? Can we not almost see it as a rebirth? A chance to screw up our courage and face the world with new, fresh hope -- to simply have another go.
Working the breakfast shift in a cafe will inevitably mean spending a rather long time discussing eggs. Poached or fried? Hard or soft? White or brown toast? ( Let me say now that I've made a personal vow never to let the words "sunny side up" ever escape my lips). It also entails spending a long time scraping the remains of the unloved eggs into the dustbin, and seeing that there are those who will only eat the yolk of a soft-boiled egg, and will leave the rest. Sacrilege. Still, the experience has shown me, to my relief (but mostly my amusement), that I am obviously not the only person who feels like getting the eggs perfect is an exact science.
My favourite requests so far:
"Supremely hard-boiled please."
"None of that wibbly-wobbly stuff if you don't mind."
"I want them extra stiff."
And why shouldn't we be particular about it? After all, the humble egg forms a fundamental part of the Great British Breakfast, along with Weetabix and PG Tips. We all know that nothing will set you up for an exam or a long day at work quite like eggs for brekkie. And we're not the only ones either -- you can find them boiled or fried on top of the foul medames eaten in Egypt, or whisked into the feathery omelettes consumed with rice and soy sauce by the Japanese (or at least by all the Japanese students I once shared a kitchen with.)
So why the obsession? We're know they're good for us (incredibleegg.org tells me they contain the best type of protein found in any food -- score!) but I like to think there's something symbolic about eating eggs too. They are simple, versatile, filling and cheap. They make for comforting and wholesome meals, especially at the start of the day when you'd rather be hiding under the duvet. There's even something satisfying about simply holding one in your hand, smooth and oval-shaped, ever so fragile. Eggs are, after all, where we all begin. A sign of new life, expectation and change. And are these not dissimilar to our emotions in the morning? With every boiled, poached or scrambled dish of that example of nature's genius that is the egg, how can we not but feel buoyed up, invigorated and excited about the day ahead? Can we not almost see it as a rebirth? A chance to screw up our courage and face the world with new, fresh hope -- to simply have another go.
