Real Eggs

I have eggs. A dozen of them. Not just any eggs, but eggs from a chicken. This is miraculous.

Allow me to explain. I live in Sydney; right in Sydney. 500 metres from Central Station, to be precise, and I have eggs from a chicken. Not from the supermarket; eggs from the chicken of a friend in the country.

Eggs only cost a few dollars per dozen here in OZ. At the restaurant I order boxes of 180 eggs at a time, and use those over the course of two to three days. I sometimes crack 60 eggs to make, say, a single batch of chocolate fondant mix, and I don't think about a single one of them.



But now, in my fridge, I have twelve speckled-brown, precious eggs, direct from the hen - much more valuable than regular eggs. It seems silly to feel this way. I know all the eggs at work come from chickens as well. It's just that in knowing these eggs weren't mass-produced, I can't possibly treat them that way.



I suppose I'm unintentionally making a confession about my attitude towards food. It's dangerously easy to forget where food comes from when it arrives in a package, all prepared – meat in plastic, frozen corn, eggs in a carton. I actually thought, being a chef, I was quite connected, quite aware of the origins of my food and that I acted appropriately. Obviously I've space for improvement.

I'll start with the eggs in my fridge.

Poaching an egg is the ultimate test of its freshness and quality. When you drop a fresh egg into a pot of simmering water it forms a neat, tight ball. The older an egg gets, the more it will spread out into ghostly filaments in the water. Cooking an egg in this manner also offers no way of masking the flavor - it's not fried in butter or scrambled with cream - it's just the egg, on its own.

It is spring Down under and the first of the local asparagus is appearing in the markets. I enjoy paring a poached egg with so many different things; I love the self-saucing effect of the runny yolk. The clean, crisp, green flavor of lightly blanched asparagus is a wonderful contrast to rich egg. Throw in some toast and a bit of spec for good measure, and you've got an elegant and simple brunch.



Poached Egg on Spring Asparagus with Lardons and Toast Fingers

2 eggs, cold
100g spec, cut into ½cm x ½ cm x 1 cm pieces
12 spears spring asparagus, trimmed (see below)
2 slices of bread (wholemeal or sourdough, please)
1 tsp white vinegar

In a small pan on medium heat toss the diced spec in a teaspoon of oil. Cook gently, shaking the pan often, until some of the fat renders out and the lardons begin to crisp. Remove from heat, drain on paper towel.

Bring a medium pot of heavily salted water to a boil. Drop in the trimmed asparagus and simmer for 1 minute. Strain.

In the meantime, bring a small saucepan of water, at least six cm deep, to a simmer. Add the vinegar, a pinch of salt and reduce the heat the the barest of simmers. Using a spoon, stir the water gently in a circular motion to create a lazy vortex in the middle of the pot. Crack one of the eggs and drop it in to the centre of the pan from as close to the surface of the water as possible. Cook for 2.5 – 3 minutes, making sure the water never reaches a full boil. Remove from the water, drain on paper towels and repeat with the second egg. The whites should be completely cooked, but the yolk runny.

While the eggs are cooking, toast and butter your bread, remove the crusts and cut into strips.

Assemble the meal by arranging six of the asparagus spears each on two plates, season them with salt and pepper, place an egg on top of these, season again, scatter the lardons around and garnish with the toast fingers.



*To trim asparagus, take one spear and lie it horizontally on a chopping board. Starting from the base and using a knife, apply light pressure across the spear, move up a centimeter towards the tip and apply pressure again. Continue to move up the spear, applying pressure, until the knife slides through. This should be about 1/3 of the way up (photo above). The rest of the spears in your bunch should cut at about the same point.

If the stalks are particularly thick, you may want to peel them; the skins of larger asparagus are tough. Start peeling from about 3cm below the tip and peel to the base. Be careful to peel as shallowly as possible, as you don't want to waste any of the tasty bit.