“How do you like your eggs?” I remember my chef-instructor asking me once during a breakfast cooking session.
“I love them soft-boiled,” I reply dreamily.
Chef-instructor makes a face. “Isn’t that for old, sick people?”
Now it was my turn to make a face as images of toothless grandmothers gnawing on boiled eggs filled my head. Eh. Not a pretty sight.
Truth is, I haven’t yet met anyone who shares my ardor for soft-boiled eggs: golden, runny rivers of yolk pulsing out of their white refuge. I like them best with just a hint of salt (rock or fine). In my mouth, the yolk tastes heavy — its richness melting unto my tongue, disturbed only by small sparks of salt slowly supplying a silken sensation.
It’s a taste like no other ”“ the closest I will ever get to tasting sunlight.