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Saturday January 17, 2015


Please crack open the posh biscuits! Wear your good pants (the ones you keep in case you ever know in advance you'll need them)! Treat yourself and put 2 after eights on a saucer after lunch! I'm nearly smiling! (but we don't do that because we're depressed)

This, my friend, is a good day! It's here! It's arrived! Celebrate with me do! I can poach eggs!!

Don't get me wrong, I can cook. Not in a Marcus Wareing way. Not in a Raymond Blanc way. I am not Heston, not Jamie, my cleavage isn't Nigella's and neither is my lamb, but I can cook. I'm averagely good in that it's usually edible, always from scratch and I have a special interest in nutrition. But poaching eggs? No. Simply NO.

I love poached eggs. Adore. I would probably have pledged to marry the first person or animal who was able to teach me the secret. But, like all achievements, it means most when you get there yourself. I have had tips: "swirl the water", "use a dollop of vinegar", "pour the eggs in slowly from a cup", "use a shallow pan", "bubble the water first", "don't bubble the water", "fresh eggs only". I've bought gadgets ranging from little slips of paper to rubbery half-shells. I've even prayed to Ronald MacDonald. The last sentence was a lie.

My efforts have been like works of art. Really random, abstract art. The worst ones looked like I had a monster of a heavy cold and had sneezed an explosive sneeze into the pan. Cooked snotters. I have eaten all the watery efforts. Not true, I couldn't eat the ones that had disintegrated in the water. I have eaten yolks that have had their whites boiled off. I have eaten whites that I've collected with a tea strainer and rolled into a pile. I have eaten slurpy bits of something that was an egg for a short time.

Today, after YEARS of practice, and many sorry chickens slow-clapping me, I have poached two beautiful eggs. They were outrageously good. I surrounded them with all the things that make my perfect breakfast. I sat like a King and I chose every good word I could think of to describe myself (that was tough as 'useless numpty' still comes easier). I did it!! And my message to you, all you lovely patient people?


Love from

The kitchen near the garage.
A Moodscope member.


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