"Gimme the girl that's beautiful, without a trace of makeup of on,
Barefoot in the kitchen, singing her favorite song.
Dancing around like a fool, starring in her own little show,
Gimme the girl the rest of the world, ain't lucky enough to know."
~Joe Nichols, Gimme That Girl

...not saying that this is me,
but Nichols sure nailed it when
he wrote the barefoot in the
kitchen line!

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Dokonale Vařená Vejce: Perfectly Boiled Eggs.

   I once rolled my eyes when I was informed that there was such a wonder as the perfectly boiled egg.  Aside from indifference, I was also skeptical.  Which was a paradox embodied, for how can one truly doubt something that one doesn't care about in the first place?  Insert a sigh, and know that I still shake my head inwardly for having succumbed to the investigation and eventual adoration of perfectly boiled eggs.
   Honestly, it began late one night in my friend's small kitchen.  She was a tired mama of two little sweethearts, but she was already contemplating tomorrow's meals.  While we browsed pinterest for recipes, and swapped cooking tricks, she prepared eggs for cooking.  And then she announced that there was very much indeed the reality of perfectly boiled eggs in this world.
   Given the hour, I refrained from arguing with her, but in my mind, I raised my left eyebrow so high that it could've hit my hairline and still have had doubtful propensities.  Upon awaking the next morning, and being served this celebrated food for breakfast, I fell in love.  Twice.  First of all, I fell in love with evil black dust, aka cracked black pepper.  Another story for another day...  Secondly, I became irreversibly infatuated with perfectly boiled eggs.
   Darlings, I'll walk you through the process.  No rush.  Just you and I, casually and happily boiling an egg to perfection.  The initial key to success would be slipping out to the henhouse, and quietly stealing a warm egg out from under a fussy hen, but if you pinky promise to settle for range free eggs with brilliant, marigold yolks, I shall hold my peace.  Place the beautiful, (hopefully!) freshly layed egg in a pot, and cover it with cold tap water.
   Set the pot on the stove, slap a lid on it, and turn a burner onto medium heat/flame.  Permit the water to reach the boiling point, at which you must set the timer for six minutes, and no longer.  After 360 seconds have expired, please turn off the heat source, and drain the boiling water into the sink, retaining that precious egg.  Douse it in a fresh bath of cold tap water until you can comfortably hold it in your hand without burning your fingers.
   Now comes the fun part.  Gently tap the widest end of the egg on a hard surface so as to crack it.  Peel the entirety of the shell apart from the firm egg white, then rinse once more to remove any bits of egg shell.  Choose a sharp paring knife, and slice the egg in half with one fluid motion.
   Then smile in a self-gratified manner without shame.  You will be admiring a personal masterpiece.  A defined ring of pure white around a sunburst of gold graduating towards the coveted center of glistening, flamboyant tangerine.  Now, lest you become Narcissan in your gaze upon this piece of loveliness, allow me to advise you to consume while warm.
   Grind some evil black dust...sprinkle some grainy Celtic sea salt...slather in nutty pesto...whatever would increase the moment of euphoria.  Or, if you nurture a fiery soul akin to mine, take an intrepid sriracha hot sauce, and create some fireworks on your palate.  Remember, an egg will always taste like an egg, but the texture, darlings, should become a memory of pleasure and permanency.  The gliding alienation of egg white giving way to the first bite, and then the spread of consistent, mellifluous yolk over your tongue. 
   Oh darling, yes, it's fine.  You may run to the kitchen now.  I understand that you have a half dozen eggs that need to be cooked perfectly...this very instant...




   Smiles,
The Barefoot Girl