Letting My Yolks Run Over
There really isn’t any food as erotic as the sunny
side up egg. Think of the way the
synapses in the brain sizzle at the sight of a golden yoke oozing its buttery pleasure
in brothy soup, on top of a pile of greens, or spilled, meltingly, from the
mouth of pasta. Let’s face it—that’s
pure sex.
Last year, I started making pizza carabonara—having
never before been interested in the pasta version, a reaction to an early
boyfriend in the 80’s with bad taste and a penchant for using olive oil only
instead of eggs -- and fell instantly in lust with the combination of creamy
garlic and mascarpone-topped crust larded with lovely chunks of sinful
pancetta, brought perfectly into focus with an egg (or in my case four) and a
bit of romano cheese. Oh, the thrill of
fat on fat. The way my head begins to purr as the yolk spreads itself over what
must be the four pillars of food pleasure:
crunch, salt, garlic and umami (cheese).
It’s fair to say that my life lately has been a
little dogged--definitely in need of some sexing up. So last week, a little hung over, I made
burgers for the artist-lover and me, something that feels to me like slumming. While it’s true that there is nothing like a
good juicy burger—I find them excruciatingly difficult to make at home. Absent the searing heat of a flat top, I’ll
confess I can’t get a burger right. The
problem with most (cheap) BBQ grills is that they don’t get hot enough to caramelize
the meat quickly while still retaining a mid-rare center. But fresh off a night of a little too much
Friuliano, I needed some grease and Greg was jonesing for what he calls regular
food.
So burgers it was.
I fried some bacon and then took an hour or two to
slow sauté thin brown onions until they were crispy. Then I fried an egg. The trick is to heat the pan so it is
searing, melt butter, wait for the bubble and crack the egg before instantly turning
the heat down to medium low. This way,
the white will cook all the way and the yolk will be runny. I put this little trifecta (crispy onion,
bacon, gloriously runny egg) on top of my cheddar burger—bun toasted, of course—and
the result was so sublime, it shoved my long-time favorite--the blue-cheese
burger--permanently to back of the bus.
I’d long ago learned the pleasure of the runny egg—from
my buttoned-down mother who taught me to dip my toast into sunny side up eggs
when I was young. Her pleasures were
secret and the combination of butter melting into the slightly thickened yolk
is a memory of mom I hold close to me.
She ate eggs every day of her too short life.
The Artist-Lover's workHorse painting in progress by Greg Marquez |
The good news for the rest of us is that the
secret pleasure of the egg is now sanctioned:
Fat is back. We know it’s good
for the metabolism and it has a calming effect on the brain. (If you don’t believe me, think of how you
feel when you eat that pint of Ben and Jerry’s—it’s chemical and it’s real). There is no reason to avoid the perfect beauty
and eroticism of the egg. At our house
we buy the pricey Omega-3 kind, for health, for mood. Like my mom, Greg eats eggs every day for
breakfast, sometimes scrambled, but sometimes adorably served as Toads in the Hole.
Me? I like
my eggs all day long. Try a poached egg
on top of spicy arugula salad dressed with truffle oil and lemon and shaved
parmesan. Spinach salad with bacon would
work just as well. Perfectly poached asparagus
plated in a row simply begs for the sensual weight of an egg laid lovingly on
top. Imagine the silky pleasure of a perfectly
cooked yolk spilling onto pungent mushroom risotto or fried sweet potatoes with
wilted chard.
For all my egg-fearing friends, here's the challenge: Dip your toe in, make runny eggs, let yourself sink in. Be sexy. And serve it up, with an egg.
All day eggs YES! I also like to steam veggies, add some paprika and Bragg's liquid aminos, topped with a runny poached egg. I hadn't thought of fresh, crispy arugula as the base, and will now take care of that oversight. Love the last image of dipping toes in water -- that's my body shape, and I'm learning to live with it.
ReplyDeleteThere really isn't a thing an egg can't sex up, as far as I'm concerned. And that's not a bad shape to have--gorgeous!
ReplyDelete