under the weather breakfast

When I was a kid, as soon as mere mention of a sore throat was uttered by someone in the family, my mother would spring into action, and certain very specific steps were taken. First, you would immediately begin gargling with salt water. Second, sticky, stinky Vicks Vaporub was applied to upper lip and chest, and a humidifier was set up in the bedroom, sometimes with a stalk of eucalyptus leaves from the backyard.

And then came breakfast. You'd be sitting, curled up on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons, when a loud whirring sound would come from the kitchen. Shortly after, Mom would scurry over with a glass of thick, pulpy, just-squeezed orange juice. If there was a limoo shirin in the house, you were extra lucky: its juice would be in there too, and you'd be advised harriedly to drink it fast before it turned bitter. Next came a glass of warm milk with plenty of honey, and a perfectly soft-boiled egg, with buttered toast to dip in the yolk, and a saltshaker close at hand to season each spoonful.

I've had more than my share of sniffly coughy days of late, and so I've tried to recreate this childhood breakfast for myself (no Vicks Vaporub, thanks). Granted, orange juice squeezed fresh by Mom has made way for orange juice squeezed almost as fresh by the kind people at Evolution (by the way, Evolution Juice, have I told you lately that I love you? Ahh, a story for another day...), and hot tea has replaced warm milk, but the centerpiece of it all, the soft-boiled egg, remains.

It turns out that a soft-boiled egg is not a simple thing. In Persian, they are called assali -- honey-like -- and my mother's were always just that. But she made it look deceptively effortless. Everyone seems to have a fool-proof formula for the perfect hard-boiled egg, and most of them are dead on, but ask about soft-boiled eggs, and even the for the most food-knowledgeable, hemming and hawing ensues.

So, I got my crack team on the job (get it? Crack team? Little egg humor for ya... Heh, I crack myself up. Whoa, crack myself up! I did it again! Anybody got a peanut?!), and the results were...well, disappointing. The first attempt, 5 minutes from start to finish, was horrendously undercooked: clear snotty whites. So, after opening it, I decided it was going back into the water. Of course this brought up the question of how to hold it upright and prevent water from getting into the opening. All good questions. I tried to constrain it by using a biscuit cutter/cuff thing, but it was not narrow enough, so I ended up with wispy poached egg whites all over the place. Sad sad days.

Next time around, I went for the following: cover and turn off heat at boil then wait 3 minutes. And, overcooked! My toasty soldiers balked at the solid, undippable yolk! I suspect that this had to do with the fact that I was cooking a half-dozen eggs, in a large pot of water, as I was going to hard-boil the rest for potato salad. My thinking is that because it took longer for the larger amount of water/eggs to come to a boil, the egg cooked longer than if it were boiling solo.

Recently I tried again, and friends, I'm happy to say the third time was the proverbial charm. Single egg, two-and-a-half minutes. Whites were solid but still jiggly, and yolk was perfectly golden, soft and dippable. At last, my soldiers, my sore throat, and I enjoyed a comforting breakfast, like honey.

Before the recipe, a couple more eggy notes:
- If all this soft-boiling talk makes you nervous, just go to Le Pain Quotidien and have them do it for you. Organic egg, perfectly cooked, fresh organic bread, latte in a little bowl, and the added joy of their hazelnut praline spread. Delight!
- And if you're a egg power-user, check out this fascinating article on molecular gastronomy's approach to egg cookery, which teaches us that if you bake an egg for an hour at 67C, you get a yolk you can mold like Play-Doh.
- And finally, I love egg. So will you. (Click the 'egg song' link.)


Soft Boiled Egg

I should disclaim, this recipe is not foolproof. It seems that a soft-boiled egg recipe is a personal thing: with so many variables -- stove hotness, pot thickness and heat capacity, pot width (which, of course affects the amount of water it takes to cover the egg), it takes a little experimenting, with your own equipment, to find your own perfect soft-boiled egg recipe. This is a good starting point though.

1 egg

Place egg in a small pot and carefully add water to cover. Bring to a rolling boil, uncovered. Turn off heat, cover pot, and let egg sit for 2-1/2 minutes. Carefully remove egg from hot water with a slotted spoon.

astoria queens -- it's a big hug

Due to business or laziness, I've not talked about the time I spent in Astoria, Queens while I visited New York. I hate to neglect this sweet little city though -- it was just so kind and affectionate to me. There seem to be two very different demographics to Astoria, but everyone is so damn nice that they coexist quite peacefully, and together they make a visit there as warm and comfy as a big hug.

I got a whiff of the first demographic the moment I stepped onto the street from the elevated train station at Broadway Avenue. The whole of Astoria smells like food. If you are of Greek descent, your grandma probably lives here. Your uncle might own the taverna on the corner where a couple old men are sitting at a table on the patio -- plastic chairs and blue checked tablecloth -- laughing over thick, bitter frappe. Seriously, there is a distinct savory aroma that permeates the whole town. A little bit lentil soup, a little bit moussaka. Even as you walk past Omonia's pastries, where, in the window they have a poster proudly stating to passersby that they made the wedding cake for My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you still get the feeling you're in someone's living room, waiting for dinner to be served. It's a homey feeling: it just makes Astoria seem cuddly.

The second group has a bit more edge, but not that much more. Astoria has a substantial population of thirtysomethings (give or take a year). It's an interesting group -- not unlike our local hipster variety, they are into music, the arts, and their community. But somehow, they just seem nicer. They also appear to have the highest blog population density of any city ever. Their headquarters is the Freeze Peach, a local coffeehouse that actively contributes to the community. Residents seem to run into people they know everywhere, and, as far as my hosts were concerned, they knew the proprietors of every shop they frequented.

My perfect Astoria Sunday went like this: My warm, gracious hosts, Annie and Eric, who fall smack in the middle of the second group, started me off with a tiny apple cider donut. It should be noted that every item of food that comes into their home is special, and if it isn't, they will turn it into something special. This little nugget was no exception. Once we overcame the groggy inertia of Sunday morning, we got ourselves out of the house. Homemade dinner was in the works, so our first stop was Gary's. Or as non-regulars know it, D&F's Italian deli. So much cheese in one space. Wow. Then to the Brooklyn Bagel Company for a bagel and scallion cream cheese (yes, they really do know some things about bagels in these parts).


It's About Time




The main event of the day was the twentieth anniversary of the Socrates Sculpture Park. The Park started out as an illegal landfill, and 20 years ago, a group of artists and community members turned it into an expansive park that hosts rotating exhibitions of large-scale artwork. The anniversary celebration meant live music, kids running around with beautifully-painted faces, and catering from Opa! (one of a bajillion local Greek restaurants) and a local Punjabi eatery. I felt like one of those kids as we frolicked around from installation to installation with the sun shining down on us. So far, so perfect.

A little more walking, a little more grocery shopping, then on to the day's real main event: dinner. On the walk home, we ran into a chef friend, who, when he learned I was visiting Annie and Eric, said, "You'll be eating well." No doubt. We got home and got to work. Annie was on kale duty, Eric was slicing potatoes, the cats were high on the nip, and me, I was logging it all from the 2-seater diner booth in their kitchen, sipping on bright Lambic cassis (I know, lazy, but someone has to document these moments!).

Finally time to eat. Eric had made a perfectly spiced potato and shiitake mushroom gratin, and Annie had sauteed some kale with pancetta, and chicken sausages we had picked up at Gary's. As if the food wasn't treat enough, we got to watch 3 hours of cable! Travel channel at that! Really these people spoiled me rotten. It feels so great to be with friends you miss, and to be reminded that there are people across the country that are on the same page as you. After binging on food and fine television programming, we went up on the roof for a breath of fresh air and a view of nighttime in their cozy little city. We came downstairs and had dessert: chocolate chipotle ice cream, homemade by Eric. Yeah, wow.


Astoria, thanks for your warm welcome -- give yourself a big squeezy Greek grandma hug for me!