Eggs

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Aside from multiple pictures of the building outside work and Fairy Tale Kings cross I also have been proudly documenting my breakfast eggs.

Because I am stupid.

Think of it as a fashion shoot á la eggs.

We bought these little poacher cups – you hang them over the side of your pot of water and it’s meant to make your life easier.

You’re supposed to bring the water up to the boil, then leave it at a simmer for 3-4 mins.

So far my poached eggs have been weekend after weekend of disasters.

I have not managed, bar the one or 2 flukes, to make a single egg without screwing something up in the process.

Last weekend I brought it to the boil, then accidentally turned down the wrong stove (which wasn’t even on in the first place).

So in about 2 mins the water had boiled over the cups and the first set of eggs were completely ruined.

I had to chuck them down the sink. There is, though, something very satisfying about watching the egg yolks not burst, as they circle the drain. I had to poke the sac with a knife and then all the bright yellow goo trickled out of it, which was equally satisfying. It was quite the egg murder-fest.

Then I didn’t top up the water in the pot for the second go and the poached eggs took twice as long to cook (because they were being steamed instead of poached), so I ended up taking them out early and there was some runny whites underneath (yuck)

It is wrong to take pictures of food. I know it is wrong. It is despicable and boring, but what the hell, this is my blog.

Screw you. Screw you all.

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3 thoughts on “Eggs

  1. I take pictures of my food whenever I’m particularly pleased with what I’ve made. Or if there’s a nice assortment of colours on the plate.

  2. Pingback: I am an addict | Tin Roof Press

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