Here's a whistle-stop tour of recentish poached egg encounters, ranging from sublime to laughable. Let's start with the latter, an offering from a borderline penal-style cafe in Chicago, Ill (sic). Ominously circular, the white of an ailing eye and strangely sterile in taste. Parsley had the appearance of having dropped heavily from a great height.
Also Chicago, but more promising you'll agree. Colour of yolk quite cheering and an almost sourdough toast with which to celebrate. Things are looking up. Breakfast of the relatives of champions.
Back in the UKKU to quote a Beatle, and here dealt a triple-hander at Sam's in Chiswick, London. A fine kedgeree and decent eggs with the hoped-for 'pop' of yolk. A slight whiff of vinegar hung about but a more-than-decent feast for the innocent W4 ambler.
Here is the humble offering to a flu-ridden loved-one. Whilst languishing in bed, he was able to sit up and take a little nourishment and thus a fatality was avoided. Viva ova. These eggs were obviously made with the cheat's choice, silicon eggplants, as I call them, but actually they are officially poached egg makers. Though they are the devil's work for PEASer purists, they are handy and a bit fun.
OK, we move into a different league here as the portals of fine dining are entered. Whilst The Wolseley's poached eggs are not the best in the world (they are made with cling film and occasionally are served too late for the crucial 'pop') their kedgeree is undoubtedly the most delectable dish on Earth. This Earth. So the combo of poached egg and the divine kedgeree leaves not just this founder in PEAS heaven. Hence shaky camera work.
A poor photo, maybe it was hard to stay calm, but another Wolseley winner. This time poached egg with Hollandaise on a stand-out fishcake. This was a birthday treat that made the increasing number of years seem less terrible.
This triptych, possibly despite how it looks, actually depicts the best-yet poached eggs this founder has experienced. A breakfast for two hungry souls early one December morning. Where? Well, perhaps surprisingly, though I don't know why, Mexico, on the Baja Calfornia Sur peninsula. Eaten before it could be photographed was a mountain of fresh, local and partly un-nameable fruit. Hallelujah ye gods of feasting: please can I have some more one day?
