Poaching is important.
I'm coming for you, Egg Gatekeepers!
Time to set the scene. It’s 2009.
Not much is happening, truly. A lot of Gen Z-ers are still kind of snotty and awkward. We have: No! Taste! (because we are under the age of 10.) Julie & Julia, directed by Nora Ephron, has just hit the big screens. I am, shockingly, extremely awkward and obsessed with the movie. I too want to write a blog. I too want to cook. I too want Stanley Tucci to look at me adoringly (leave me alone.) I too want to annihilate a lobster in front of a perfectly staggered row of French manly men chefs at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. I too want to be Julia Child!
Insert image of little me around other kids my age. Interested in beef stew! Poached eggs! Bangs! Shocking!
Okay. Now imagine me, small(ish) forcing my mother and grandmother to dress up as Julia Child to make boeuf bourguignon on my birthday. Friends, we wore pearls. We wore aprons. I stood on my mom’s lovely red, wooden step stool (which now sits pretty in my apartment) and acted like I knew what was happening with this beef stew. Here’s what I loved: the first bacon step, my mom’s cherry patterned apron, the mushrooms, the steamy residue of a cooking stew, red wine!, my grandmother’s classic French twist, the tiny tiny pearl onions. But, the best part. I held the wooden spoon. I stirred. I tasted.
Unfortunately, a recent watch of the movie tells me it’s kind of bad. Amy Adams as Julie Powell activates my secondhand embarrassment. Which, to be fair, is pretty easy to do. Now, there is so much about her character that little me and big me still resonate with. I love that slow, though short, monologue of hers about the effects of Mastering the Art of French Cooking on her childhood. I love how it reminds her of her mother. Truth: I wasn’t super creative about the boeuf bourguignon fixation and neither was Julie Powell, it seems (see below.)
I object to the 226,000 results of this! There is one recipe! Those repost bloggers are my enemy #1 this week. Make your own beef stew, Tammy. Back off, Tammy. Who even is Tammy? I digress.
Amy Adams as Julie Powell is worn out, hungry, and trying so hard to be a writer. Now, I am not at the 30s stage that Julie is up against. I don’t get that part. But, I do empathize with her desire to be creative. I see how badly she wants to be interesting. I see her trudge to work and cry and rock the short haircut. I love how the solution to her problems is to cook every day and complain the hell out of it.
Let’s talk about that poached egg scene. Julie Powell’s Everest, next to actually cooking through Child’s ENTIRE cookbook, is eating a solo egg for the first time. She is terrified! Never mind that in one of her first cooking scenes she cracks three eggs into her chocolate pie filling. Never mind that! This woman has the ick! Everyone has a bit of egg ick in some forms. I just got through a decade-long egg ick, specifically regarding the white of the egg. Yolk, you’re my girl. Always have been, always will.
This poached egg scene drives me crazy. For one, she DROPS that egg into the water. This is so. misleading. Please never facilitate an egg cannonball. It is cruel and blasphemous. Of course her first egg deceased itself! Of course. Her friend Helen appears. Sweet Helen, who deserves so much more character development. And, of course, her husband comes in to soothe and save the day. Protest! Get this guy out of here! I truly hope that real Julie Powell (RIP) got her first perfect poached egg over a gross facial of egg-y steam. I hope that she was joyfully alone in her tiny apartment kitchen. Poaching a perfect egg with no one but yourself is validating, meditative, and good good good. Though, it’s okay if your Helen is there too. Helen gets a pass.
Poaching an egg while listening to dramatic cello music? Not a voiceover in sight? Even better. (See below.)
I have one more complaint. We don’t know if Julie Powell salted her first perfect poached egg. They don’t even give us a flaky salt close up on a shiny poached pillow. This evokes divine hatred. Don’t worry! I’ll be okay (I think.) Helen cracks something (salt? I hope?) at the end of the scene. Bless.
Here’s what’s correct: Gently double knock your egg on a flat surface. Challenge yourself, get close to the simmering water. Release that egg from its shell in one, confident movement. Maybe you burn the tip of your finger! That’s how close you are to the water. Great news: you will be okay! A poach at a simmer takes a minute or two. I encourage you to scoop out your egg with a slotted spoon (but a fish spatula is the best vessel for this) to test the doneness of your yolk. If the egg white is still transparent, wants to bend and break, leave it be. But once it starts to hold and take on the look of a shiny, freshly cooked flat noodle (I am right), then use a fingertip of choice to tap the yolk pocket for doneness.
I like a runny yolk. This means a bouncy, immediate return to original height poke. If you like a semi-firm experience, look for a tap with some resistance. This takes time to learn! Keep poaching eggs. Please!
Friends… I poach eggs for a living. Literally. My current cooking gig has me poaching at least thirty eggs a shift. We use sauté pans for our poaching! Julia Child did too. No vinegar (sorry Julia), no doom swirl, no frills. These eggs aren’t always aesthetically perfect. But, I have to tell you. The whites are set, the yolks right-before-jammy. It’s good. Poaching is important (and not that difficult.)
Eat your poached eggs with a generous pinch of flaky salt and a good crack of black pepper. Or, with a dash of soy sauce and your favorite chili oil. Or, flaky salted and peppered alongside a buttered, toasted bread. Even better, spread some homemade tahini butter over the toast. Dip bread corners into the broken yoke goodness and remind yourself that decadence is so necessary, good, and important. Lick your lips and taste salt. Repeat!
Poach your eggs alone and give into the sweet pride of doing it for yourself. Watch Julie & Julia with a promise that you won’t see it as a reflection of me, just as a starting point. Talk soon! Recipe next time…