Ode To An Egg

I awoke this morning with a vague headache. This did not bode well in my universe. Unfortunately for me, I had to drag myself into NYC for my annual mammogram. I had no choice but to try and ignore this small annoyance.

I got onto the train, settled in and within moments felt as if I were in a sauna. The headache was coming on, and I hadn't thought to take any medication before I left since the pain wasn't too bad at that point. Took my coat off, my scarf, feeling like I might pass out. Off came the sweater. Pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. Closed my eyes and waited for sleep to overtake me.

When I arrived in Penn Station I realized several things. First, I needed to get an Imitrex into me like, pronto. Two, food was a priority. Eating usually helps my headaches to some degree. Luckily I had timed things to enable me to eat breakfast. I remembered somewhere near the radiologist's office was a restaurant I had enjoyed previously, a bakery for the most part which also had lighter fare. With destination in mind, I got onto the bus which heads down Seventh Avenue, scanning out the window for Le Pain Quotidien.

Now, I have to explain about LPQ. The first time there, I just had some pastry and coffee. I was very impressed with the quality of both. Didn't remember the name of the place, or even where it was specifically. The second time, I pretty much had the same, but took the time to read up about the restaurant because as it turns out; it's a chain.

Yes, a chain. I was stunned. This lovely little French inspired bakery/cafe is an imposter! But oh how i do not care! So, today, with headache a'callin I decided this quiet little place with classical music playing in the background, would be the perfect choice to relax until my appointment. But this time, with a new blog to post into, I suddenly was looking at it with new eyes.

Everything about LPQ is warm and friendly. When you enter, the array of bread and pastry is rather mind boggling. I was awestruck by several items, which looked professional enough to be in a cooking magazine. For the moment, I bypassed this counter and headed to the back area where they have waited tableservice. The menu includes sandwiches, fancy yogurts, salads, quiches (a favorite), etc. Sitting on each table is an assortment of preserves (apricot, mixed berry) and a jar of praline butter (similar to peanut butter in consistency). Grinders of fresh sea salt and black pepper are there as well. Sea salt? I'm in love with this place!

So here I am looking over the menu and I want something with some protein. I don't know about anyone else but when I have a headache, I crave things high in protein. I notice there is only one hot option on the menu. Soft Boiled Egg with an Assortment of Breads.

My eyes light up. It was exactly what I needed. I also realize I've never had a soft boiled egg. How can this be? I know why. See, all my life I've not cared for the whites of eggs. I made an assumption that the white of a soft boiled egg wouldn't be appealing. That it wouldn't be "set". So, I've shied from them all these years. But today, for some reason, it sounded so wonderful, that I ordered it. And, an iced latte (I'm addicted to them but that's a story for another day).

A few minutes later, the very efficient and friendly waiter brings me my latte and a nicely arranged plate of three types of their bread with butter (sourdough wheat, white, and raisin) with a brown egg in a cup. I touch the egg with my fingers. It is just out of the pot, so warm I nearly burn myself. I begin to tap the top open with my spoon.

I crack some salt and pepper over the egg. Dip one of the slices of bread into egg. Twirl it around, letting the yolk soak into the bread. Use the spoon to scoop out some of the white/yolk mixture and take it into my mouth. It's a revelation of egg. I don't know why. It's just an egg. As plain as an egg can get. But there is something so utterly perfect about this egg being in such a pristine state, needing nothing but a little salt and pepper. The white is perfectly cooked. For some reason I'm shocked by this. The yolk is runny and hot. I'm shocked further. I had thought at least some of it would have started to cook. It's clear I don't understand anything about a soft cooked egg. It was out of my food realm my whole life. I feel gypped somehow. My mom knew how much I loved runny yolks, she made me poached eggs all the time; so why not a soft boiled egg? It would have been so much easier. The waiter comes by to make sure I'm satisfied. I mention how much I enjoyed the egg and how I'm embarrassed to say I have no idea how to cook one. "5 minutes at a rolling boil, but make sure it goes in at the rolling boil" is his pleasant reply. I see egg cups being purchased in the near future.

I save some of the bread to test out the confitures and praline butter. Fantastic apricot jam, probably my favorite flavor of all. It reminds me of my mom who ate apricots to excess. The praline butter is something else I've never had. I thought about buying a jar of it, but was terrified that my boyfriend and I would consume the entire thing in one evening.

By the way, the latte was darn good too. I'm a fan of Starbucks for their espresso drinks, but the flavor of the coffee they're using here was preferable for me.

This little piece of breakfast nirvana cost me $10 with tip and tax. Well worth it for the entire experience. I brought home half a loaf of their sourdough wheatbread, which was huge - set me back $6.00, but this is artisan quality bread we're talking about here. My boyfriend prefers wheatbreads, and this one was probably one of the best I've had.

Besides, I love spoiling him with food, he enjoys it as much as I do. I can't wait to make him a soft boiled egg.