Egg cookery by emotional state: An essential guide

I'm not sure how central a role eggs play in your life. For me, they're utterly essential. I'm not just talking about how eggs for dinner are a lifesaver in a pinch, or the fact that an egg topper on salads and grain bowls magics them into meals, or that egg yolks make as fine a dressing base as they do pasta sauce. I mean that egg cookery is so central to my weekly sustenance that I will actually tailor it to different emotional states. Let me explain. 

A sunny side-up egg — made by cracking eggs into an oiled pan, covering and letting them cook till just set — can lay the framework for a generally optimistic day. This holds true both because the eggs look cheerful on the plate and the act of dabbing toast corners into the yolks is a delightful, satisfying activity. Therefore, I prefer to serve them with buttered toast points on gloomy mornings when nothing seems to be going right. If I accidentally puncture the yolk while cracking them or otherwise screw them up, I can thunder around and complain bitterly about the unfairness of it all. (So in effect, nothing about my s**tty day has changed.) On the other hand, if I get them just right, things tend to look up after breakfast.  

Omelets can suit a range of mental states depending on preparation style. The French version — an oozy middle encased in a smooth, pale-yellow exterior, demands concentration, self-assuredness and a deft hand as I shake the egg in a foaming pat of butter until set on the bottom then somersault it onto the plate. But if I arrive in the kitchen as a harried, distracted creature — phone in one hand and head full of to-do list items — I just pour those beaten eggs into the pan. Maybe I roll the pan around and run a spatula around the edges to give the uncooked parts some contact; maybe I throw in a little diced ham or scallions or grated cheese. Or maybe I get sidetracked by an Instagram Reel of a guy reviewing Domino's Loaded Tots and forget all about the omelet. The bottom may brown much more than I like while the top remains runny. Regardless, it's a filling lunch I made myself despite barely existing in the present moment. 

The hard-scrambled egg almost too obviously signifies the sort one would make in a fit of impatient rage. (We get it; you took out your frustration on the eggs.) But the method also has a brash, busy confidence that I like to emulate. 

"I'm far too important to spare more than a few minutes preparing lunch!" I say, as I press and scramble beaten eggs in plenty of grapeseed oil. "Someone else will have to clean the egg residue off this pan!" 

I reserve the custardy soft-scrambled egg, silky and palest yellow, for times I feel effortlessly elegant, like Nigella Lawson stirring a cauldron of risotto with all the time in the world (and only the most complimentary lighting). 

"Break out the caviar garnish!" I cry, as the tiny, glossy curds finally emerge after I've prodded them gently towards cooked over low heat for what feels like hours. "I'll be in the other room, changing into a breezy, timelessly stylish ensemble."  

A lacy-edged fried egg is just the sort I like to set atop an expertly charred stir fry, because the whole dish makes me feel like a master of short-order cookery — and, in that moment — of my broader domain. The egg, slid into a smoking-hot oiled skillet then basted with said fat until done, is just an added flex, as in: "Behold my mastery of the sear." 

Indeed, I've found that the level of expertise I bring to each egg-cooking method directly correlates to my mood when deploying them. Egg poaching, for instance, is a serious business. Although I'm generally in an ambitious, cheffy state to begin, uncertainty inevitably creeps in once I start the whirlpool in the simmering water tinged with vinegar and carefully lower in the cracked egg. I like to tell myself this is because I much prefer the texture of the whites in a soft-boiled egg, but I think I mainly avoid poaching out of insecurity. 

On that note, I can practically boil eggs in my sleep, thanks to chef J Kenji Lopez Alt's technique: Bring water to a simmer in a medium pot (I like adding a pinch of salt to help solidify the whites if an egg cracks). Gently lower the eggs into the water with a slotted spoon or strainer. Cook for exactly 6 minutes, then remove the eggs with a slotted spoon, peel and serve. I like making these when I'm sad, because peeling then cutting them in half to reveal that glistening yolk the color of goldenrod is like opening a food present. 

Eggs with Creamed Collards (Maggie Hennessy)

Of course, life often presents a messier stew of situations and emotions than the aforementioned examples. Take the below recipe, in which a single egg bore the heavy burden of coaxing me out of a deep malaise. I woke up feeling blue, with a sprinkling of self-doubt — meaning lunch called for comfort without too much effort, plus a dash of smugness. A one-pan situation with crusty bread for sopping provided a natural starting point. 

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I sautéed my wilting collard greens ("stems and all!" I bragged to no one) with aromatics, lemon and a little cream. Then I made a hole in that nest of greens big enough to crack a single egg inside. I covered the pan, allowing the steam rising from the vegetables to gently set the top side of the white. I coaxed my little edible work of art into my prettiest serving bowl and gazed at it for a moment before plunging the bread into the oozing, sunny yolk. Why was I blue again today?

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