In a world where we now have unusual and exotic ingredients at our fingertips, Debora Robertson celebrates the everyday, reliable magic of yolks and whites – especially when combined into a light-as-air soufflé
My cooking year: March
When I’m doing the mealtime death stare into the fridge or pantry because I’ve left it until about half-past-hungry to decide what I want to eat and suddenly nothing in that big shop I did only yesterday looks like anything I’d ever want, there’s one stalwart I can always rely on. Enter, the egg.
Eggs are the miracle ingredient. Relatively inexpensive and always available, they’re often the answer even when you’re not really sure what the question is. A boiled egg is perfect on its own as a snack, or chopped into the god-tier sandwich that is, of course, the peerless egg and cress – or watercress if you’re feeling fancy – on white bread. My go-to fast-food dinner is often some kind of omelette or frittata, conjured from odds and ends from the fridge that need using up, the end result always greater than the sum of its parts. My husband, I’m fairly certain, fell in love with my scrambled eggs before he fell in love with me. My mother, who almost never cooks, somehow makes perfect poached eggs, which always impressed my father as much as if she’d just done a double pike vault right off the kitchen table. Admiration of egg magic runs deep in our family.
But eggs aren’t just a reliable old hometown boyfriend of an ingredient, always there when you need them. What’s astonishing is that the egg, approximately 60g of goodness capable simultaneously of both creaminess and volume, can scale the heights of fantasy too: see the silky heaven that is crème brûlée, or those airy marvels, soufflés (this month’s recipes) and meringues. They are the everyday ingredient onto which we can project our culinary fantasies.
Traditionally, we’ve always associated eggs with spring, with Easter and rebirth, in part because of their pagan and Christian symbolism of fertility, resurrection and eternal life. Also, when spring comes around and the days get longer, hens get into the serious business of laying, so egg dishes have long been associated with this time of year.
On my own Easter table this year, I’m replicating a starter I often eat at Le Grand Café Occitan, a restaurant not far from us in southwest France. It’s essentially a softly boiled egg, halved, presented yolk-side up on a slick of homemade mustardy mayonnaise with a co
