DH has no health issues. The man has no blood pressure, pulse, or cholesterol in his body! He can eat anything in any quantity. But does he? Oh, no. He has a built-in radar for portion control. And he claims to be watching his fat and sugar intake. He is invisible sideways and yet weighs himself every day. He tells people he exercises 5 hours a day so he can eat the food I make.
Given that he is a health nut, I try to cook healthfully for him. He does love eggs, so he was one of the first to applaud eggs being removed from the “bad for you” foods list the Food Gods designate every other day. But I don’t make eggs often. Eggs have been more of a company thing around Chez Moi. I use dozens in baking and my quiches (See a previous post for my fab recipe, she says modestly.), but not so much to just eat. Why is that?
Well, first, we eat few fried anythings, so eggs would be on that no-no list. I grew up with fried eggs. Fried in the leftover bacon fat so they were especially tasty. I thought there were only two ways to make eggs—fried and coddled. No, I don’t do fried. I’ve spent years in therapy trying to repress those memories.
I do remember Big Ma making “coddled eggs” when we were sick. Only time she’d do it. It almost made being sick worth it.
When I grew up, I learned that coddled eggs were poached eggs. I figure Big Ma called them “coddled” because she had to treat them so gently as she’d slide them into the boiling water and ever-so-carefully so as not to break the yolk lift them out and onto a piece of waiting toast. Good eats, those eggs! But, it was so hard, there’s no way I’d do them.
Fast forward to my life now. Somebody else’s mother made coddled eggs. And somebody else realized these took skill and experience to pull off. Since, they say, Invention is a mother . . . or something like that, somebody else figured out how to make poached/coddled eggs without breaking yolks all over the pan and without all those stringy little white threads (that we’re told is where the real nutrition is) messing up the water. Cleaning the pan is not a problem with somebody’s invention.
Do you know about Poach Pods? Well, I love them. I can give DH poached eggs any day he wants them now. I don’t even whine about the extra work. (See his normal breakfast is to pull out two kinds of high fiber cereals and add blueberries and strawberries with the milk. No sugar, of course.)
But back to Poach Pods. They are little silicone pouches that sort of look like bra inserts. You Pam them a little, put them into a pot of boiling water, break in an egg, and wait for them to be the doneness you like. Lift them out, pour off excess water that bubbled into the pouch, and slide it onto an English muffin or toast. They clean up in a snap, and the water pan is just water so it air-dries, and I am done.
I love gadgets. Have I mentioned that before? But Poach Pods are more than a gadget. They make DH think I really care.
[You can buy Poach Pods in catalogs or from Amazon at http://amzn.to/w6th1]
