What a yolk

You know all the clichés about young people not even knowing how to boil an egg when they first move out of home?

Confession time.

Photo source

I cannot boil an egg (and I moved out of home eighteen years ago, almost to the day).

Well... I can, but rarely how I intended it to be. If I'm aiming for soft-boiled to dip toasted soldiers into, I will end up with hard-boiled. If I need hard-boiled for sandwiches or salads, guaranteed they will be soft. Runny, even.

Annoying.

I don't understand how this can be. I have followed various basic egg-boiling instructions over the years, none of which seem to work for me. I have a feeling that it may be related to my perception of at which point the water can be classed as actually boiling. You know, simple stuff. Cooking 101.

Anyhow. That I have trouble with such a simple culinary skill as egg-boiling implies that I'm a lost cause in the kitchen, right?

Wrong.

I can make fabulous curries from scratch. I can make a mouth-watering vegetable gluten-free lasagne. I can make a mean Mexican - again, from scratch. I can make perfect risottos.

Cottage pie, pumpkin pie, coconut custard pie? Easy as, well, pie.

I can make all kinds of scrumptious cakes that leave you wanting more.

I can follow recipes to a T, but I can also improvise with what's in the pantry.

I like to think I'm a pretty good cook, so maybe it's just egg dishes I can't handle?

Nope. I make knock-your-socks-off frittatas, awesome Spanish omelettes, and scrambled eggs to cure the mother of all hangovers.

Clearly, I can handle eggs - just don't ask me about cracking them. For some reason - like with boiling - I don't have much luck. Perfect cracks with yolks intact when making scrambled eggs, but if I want to fry an egg? Or separate the white from the yolk? The shell will not cooperate, resulting in a mangled yolk.

I blame the shell, of course.

To be honest, I've never really had an issue with my status as Failed Egg Boiler. I was okay with it, because of all the other things I could whip up.

Until now. I have a fussy-eating almost-five year-old, the Faery. It's always been a struggle to get a decent amount of protein into her.

Recently, she's decided that she LOVES boiled eggs, and requests them with a frequency that has me breaking out in a cold sweat.

Pre-dinner exchanges go something like this:

Me, "Soooo... how about some fish tonight?" 

The Faery, "Umm... no thank you. I want an egg! An egg in a shell with toast to dip in it."

Me, "Ummm... I'm not very good at making them like that. Dad makes them better than me, and he can make you some on the weekend. You can have some scrambled egg, though. Or a cheesy omelette?"

The Faery sighs, "Ohhkaaaaaaay." So hard done by, I know.

Nonetheless, I end up seeing myself as just a little bit of a failure in her eyes. Mum can't even boil an egg - what a loser.

If anyone reading this knows a fool-proof way to boil eggs, enlighten me. Please. For the Faery's sake...

American Tea Party

It's Good Friday today, and that means... J is at work. Unlike in Australia, where most people are gearing up for an extra long weekend (four days' worth), today is just like any other day in the US.

Oh well.

This morning, the Faery had the brilliant idea of holding a tea party. Not the imaginary sort, but with real food and drink. She's had a toy tea set since her second birthday, and was adamant that we should use the teapot. It's one of those Fisher Price ones with a lid that has some kind of motion sensor and plays horrendous electronic music whenever tilted to pour. Of course, it was a gift from her grandparents. They have more of a sense of humour than me when it comes to toys with sounds and flashing lights, and seem to think it quite funny to give such gifts. Naturally, the lid for this teapot has been 'misplaced', on more than one occasion. Ahem.

The Faery also wanted to use her matching teacups, but I explained that as they each have a small hole in one side, they wouldn't hold the drinks very well (thanks, Fisher Price). Luckily, we have some small Oriental tea cups - perfect for little hands - and she was happy with the substitution. She then spent the morning going through her various cooking toys to find the perfect spoon to stir our drinks with. Attention to detail is becoming her thing.

Next, the food. Neither of us drinks or likes tea, so that was out of the question. Cucumber sandwiches? Not going to happen, either. And given how picky the Faery is with food in general, I had a feeling that any scones with cream and jam would just have the jam licked off.

So, we settled for a tea party with American flavours. Old-fashioned lemonade from the tea pot. Peanut butter sandwiches cut into small triangles. A couple of baby cupcakes, filled with raspberry jam inside, and topped with a tiny chocolate Easter egg. Being Good Friday, the final touch was a quartered hot cross bun, each part slathered in butter. The Faery thought each quarter was a whole bun, and very happy with this. I chose not to correct her way of thinking.

Miss Pie is at that age where she in destruction mode, oh, at least 90% of the time. For this reason, we decided to exclude her from the tea party. As soon as she was tucked up for her midday nap, the Faery and I set up our little party.

It was fun - the Faery and I used to be joined at the hip, but rarely get any one-on-one time together anymore, so it was nice to enjoy each other's company. She was mistress of the ceremony, and got a huge kick out of pouring our 'tea' into the cups. She loved stirring the lemonade in our teacups. She chose her spoon well, and it made satisfying chinking sounds against the porcelain.

The food went down very quickly, and we agreed that we should make this a regular thing. Too often, I find myself nagging her not to do this or that, and getting irritated at silly things she does - as all four-year-olds do. It was lovely to just enjoy her company, and be reminded of what a gorgeous little soul she really has. I need to do that more often.

As much as I was tempted, I didn't take photos. I needed to be present in the moment. Besides, there are going to be plenty more tea parties in future. That much I know.

The Easter Bunny's thunder

Our local supermarket prepares for commercial success on Valentine's Day.
I do like the tulips, though...

Valentine's Day has just been taken to a new level. In my world, anyway.

I hail from a country where this particular day is targeted at couples. The only people who bother to exchange cards, flowers, chocolates (or whatever else they've been suckered into buying) are teenagers and adults. At least, that's been my experience of it.

And in Australia, it's not something for children, but over the years, I've seen - from American TV shows - that the children here exchange cards at school, so that wasn't a new concept. I'll be prepared to get out the glitter and glue for the Faery when she's at school next year.

However, in recent weeks, I've seen increasing attempts by advertisers and stores to get parents to part with their bucks for Valentine gifts for their offspring. That is a new concept to me.

Do I sound cynical about the day and its meaning? I probably am. J and I haven't participated in this ritual since we were teenagers ourselves. Neither of us really buys into the rampant consumer side of things.

If we want to show tokens of love and appreciation to one another, we'll do it when we feel the need. Surprises are a lovely thing. Flowers or chocolates because it's February 14th? I actually think that giving because it's expected makes it less special. I prefer surprises.

Lashes of pink, love hearts, and chocolate:
The 4-year-old Faery is sold on the idea

The amusing thing about this abundance of Valentine's Day displays is that very little attention has been given to Easter yet. In Australia, the chocolate Easter eggs would be rolled out into the shops, oh, maybe a week or two after Christmas? By February, entire supermarket aisles are devoted to the Easter Bunny. This has always seemed like overkill to me. Here? I've only seen one tiny display for Easter merchandise so far.

So this year, I'm having fun observing the varieties of Valentine's choccies on display, even if I don't really desire them for myself. Valentine's Day is stealing some of the Easter Bunny's thunder, just as Halloween steals a little of Santa's in America. The thought makes me grin.

There are a few things I'll miss about Aussie Easters while we're in the US, though. In terms of work, it's just a regular week and weekend here. We arrived just before Easter last year, and J began his exciting new job immediately. I was expecting that he wouldn't have to work on Good Friday and Easter Monday. I was desperately hopeful, because we'd only been here a week and had that newly arrived daze about us. A couple of days off would have been very helpful. No such luck though, and somewhat disappointing.

The other thing I'll miss? Warm hot cross buns, with melted butter seeping in. Actually, any hot cross buns will do. I didn't see any last year, and don't even know if people eat them here. I suspect not, and have a sad feeling it's a tradition that Australia inherited from Britain.

Hot cross buns are my favourite thing about Easter - even more so than the chocolate. Coming from a chocoholic like me, that's saying something. So please, if any American readers know of somewhere I could get my hands on a dozen - or two - speak up and let me know!

I suppose I could get off my butt and attempt to bake some, but I'm not entirely confident that emulating Nigella Lawson or Martha Stewart would be successful... but it could be fun.

My other option is to be on my best behaviour and write a nice note to the Easter Bunny. He might bring me some buns, right?... oh, wait... that's how Santa operates...

Bummer.