I have a very strange and inexplicable aversion to cooking eggs, possibly because of my ineptitude when it comes to preparing them (don’t even ask me to poach an egg, please). My aversion is even more curious when you think about how eggs are often thought of as ‘training wheels’ cooking — think about every dude you know who can only cook one dish: The Scramble. I have had this so many times, and it’s always rubbery scrambled eggs mixed with big chunks of vegetables and sausage and stir-fried into oblivion. Classic Non-Cooker Dude Dish.
This attempt at a fried egg in butter with truffled salt was only partially successful (the other yolk was perfectly molten, while mine had the most unpleasant firmness), but I was very pleased with my spicy hash: fingerling potatoes, onions, mushrooms, garlic, ground lamb, sweet paprika, tomato paste, and plenty of hot sauce. (Note: there is a particularly nice compendium of hash recipes here).
My boyfriend is really the go-to person for eggs. He nails it every time. It’s truly awe-inspiring. My favorite are his tender, silky, velvety omelets (usually as a result of a splash of cream and a thick pat of butter), dotted with any number of mouth-watering fillings (this omelet contained bacon, oven-dried tomatoes, spinach and onion), and topped with a parsley salad. He understands that I like my eggs just teetering on the edge of rawness, in order to optimally preserve its lusciousness.