An Egg’s Journey Home
While going through a family album, I found this yellowed envelope from my father. So many memories tumble out. And a few tears.
I lived in London for two months during the summer of 1971. I ate at the university cafeteria during that time. There was always a tray of oval, dark brown blobs, the size of a large tennis ball. They were served breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This was the “Scotch Egg.” The Scotch Egg was a rock-hard, over-boiled egg, encased in sausage, heavily battered, and deep-fried. The egg itself had been cooked beyond recognition and edibility. The sausage was likely from a goat. It was a horrid concoction. I detested the Scotch Egg.
I thought I’d put that Scotch Egg out of my head for good; but, no. It raised its ugly head again when I received an email featuring the Scotch Egg. Just reading those two words made my stomach lurch a bit, but I opened up the email in spite of that.
The first thing I see is the chef plating his Scotch Eggs and these eggs are nothing like the eggs I had in London. These eggs look wonderfully, incredibly, edible. These were soft-boiled eggs with an oozy yolk, marinated in a Teriyaki-like sauce, encased in sausage, lightly fried to a lovely golden brown in panko breadcrumbs, and served on a bed of Napa cabbage salad.
I must give the Scotch Egg another chance.
I’m glad I did. It was fantastic. Then I started thinking, which can be a scary thing, about the Scotch Egg. What if I took the basic Scotch Egg idea and put a Northeastern North Carolina spin on it? And that, my friends, is how I ended up with a spring breakfast column featuring my Carolina Blue Eggs – Carolina blue for our blue sky and blue crab, Callinectes sapidus, our “beautiful swimmer.”
I’ll also be presenting two other egg-ceptional breakfast dishes for your gustatory pleasure – Eggs Hawthorne and Oeufs Mollet à la Florentine. Take time, when you can, to prepare a special, leisurely breakfast. It’s the nicest thing you can do for yourself and your family.
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