Grandma’s Three Minute Eggs

by Wendy

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Snow drifts quietly reminisce last night’s storm.  The wind blows billows of white, swirling through sky, dusting treetops, tickling the nooks and crannies, crevices created in our natural world outside the windows of our homestead.  A powdered sugar topping provokes sweet thoughts of a time gone by, of food lovingly prepared and shared. This snowy morning takes me back to firsts.  My first sweet baby growing into toddler, appetite voracious for adventure and exploration.  My first journey into this wondrous adventure called motherhood, sweet with ripening of promise, a life filled with adventure and exploration daily into new lands, uncharted territories.  Holding his tender little hand he and I boldly strode into each moment with hearts and heads held high, expectations higher.  Never facing disappointment we were explorers of a whole new world together, this mother-child experience.  Without hesitation we would take the trail through the pines to Grandma’s home each day.  There we would find welcome comfort in the arms of a kindred who taught us what it was to love, what it was to live fully, and how to not sweat the small stuff.  On a particularly blustery late morning we boldly took the trail, cheeks rosy and mittened fingers chilly, we were greeted at the back door with delight, hugs, and kisses.  Her eyes said it all.  They sparkled and brimmed with a love only a Grandmother can know.  The kind of love that comes from knowing, from wisdom, from experiencing years of motherhood from bended knees, heart softly in prayer.  This must be where the ‘Grand’  comes into Grand-Mother, or Grand-Ma.  It is a greatness that has been earned, birthing through to another generation, a splendid mastery of teaching, loving, and living.  On this particular morning, with snow threatening from the north, our loving guide for this morning’s exploration, took us down a path from her own childhood.  One filled with love and kisses, and three-minute eggs.  “Would you fancy one?”  she asked.  I replied that I didn’t know because I had never experienced one, and she smiled, delighted and excited to share them with us.  She lovingly told tales of the soft-boiled eggs of her upbringing, as she exuberantly pulled a pot, and egg cups from a cupboard.  She shared how she had made them specially for her children, and was thrilled to her very core, I believe, to be able to not only share them with her first Grandchild, but to pass along the knowledge, the teaching, and the love.  The homemade loaf of french bread appeared on the counter with instructions on slicing and toasting, as she prepared the timer, eggs, and water.  I sliced into the golden crusty loaf, showers of sesame seeds raining down.  We were wild-eyed excited on the brink of this new frontier, with wisdom-filled guide at our side.  Before we realized, the timer was chirping, hands were busily moving into the motions of knowing, of preparing.  I layered butter cheese-thick on the porous, rustic, comforting loaf, and The Wise One, our Grandmother Guide, expertly showed me the proper cutting technique for the bread, the one that her Mother, and Grandmother had used.  Butter melted slowly, seeping into caverns of heavenly deliciousness, shells were cracked, tops removed, salt and pepper lightly sprinkled.  Suddenly, somehow we were all seated before china and tea, a new land laid out before us on plate.  Beautiful, simple, elegant.  She displayed her heritage, in the same manner, sharing love and traditions between generations.  With a smile and twinkle she showed us, me and my little explorer, how to dive the toast into the sea of warm, gooey, wonderful, yolk.  With delight we indulged into this seemingly elegant epicurean experience, transported from the coldly lit, snow impending day, to a brightly lit, warm, love filled landscape that pushed past the boundaries of our hearts.  I dipped, and swiped, smiled, and absorbed every crumb of the moment.  Little One delighting up to his elbows in rich, yellow wonder.

Three Minute Eggs

Farm Fresh, wonderful, beautiful eggs.  As many as you may need to feed your wide-eyed, wonder-filled explorers.

Sauce pan large enough to accommodate eggs, with accompanying lid.

Water to cover 1 inch above eggs.

Timer

1 Loaf, preferably hand-made, of a rustic crusty bread, filled with pores to absorb all the eggy goodness.

Place eggs into pot, fill with water to cover 1 inch above eggs, fully submerging them.  Place pot over medium high heat, bring to a boil.  Cover, remove from heat.  Set timer for 3 minutes.  As soon as the timer goes off, drain and run cold water over the eggs to stop the cooking process.  Place each egg into an egg cup.  Remove tops of eggs by striking the shell about a 1/4 of the way down, with a sharp kitchen knife to create a crack.  Insert the blade of the knife into the crack, and press it through the egg, shell and all, to remove entire top, exposing the yolk.  Set the top aside.  Gently insert a spoon into the yolk to wake it up, and bring its golden lovliness to the top.  Lightly sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Serve with generously buttered toast, sliced into halves, and then each half cut into vertical strips, sized perfectly for dipping.

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Shared With:

The Barn Hop

http://www.theprairiehomestead.com