W. made his special version of corned beef and hash this weekend: finely sliced and diced potatoes, onions, poblano pepper, carnitas, secret flavoring agents (secret because I forget what they are but they include concentrated lemon juice and a dash of maggi sauce), and a fried egg each.
Tomorrow it is my turn and my proposed dish also involves eggs: Eggs en coucottes with leeks, based on the recipe from the Silver Spoon cookbook. I’ve made this before and love the taste imparted to the leeks by cooking them with a pinch of finely grated nutmeg. Nutmeg makes an excellent stealth flavoring, as does cinnamon, both bringing out some marvelous complexity in foods.
I’ve been buying Ameraucana (aka “blue”) eggs when possible. Their yolks are gorgeous: rich orangey yellow, and the shells are fun too. I think I would like to have my own chickens: a nice little family, perhaps without the noisy papa, who would welcome my periodic ova purloining and regard me with a mix of admiration and fondness based on my assurances to consume only their eggs, and not them.
In reality I know virtually nothing about chickens and have never even owned a pet as allergies and a childhood split between two countries made owning them difficult. I understand that chickens smell, can go broody, and probably don’t make for good neighbor relations. Chicken ownership must be preceded by various other “desired future state” requirements, particularly: a home in the country (preferably in England, with neighbors who won’t shoot us, near public transportation, with seasonable weather, but without poisonous snakes). For now, the trek up the hill to Whole Foods is a suitable alternative.