ŒUF-da!

To our delight we had this demonstration in the morning. 8 am to be exact. That part wasn't to our delight. But eating fancy French eggs was. I mean, the eggs were English... But, at any rate, they were trés bien.
Trés bien but also trés strange. The omelets are rolled up like Swedish Pancakes and the scrambled eggs looked more like the product of one too many bottles de vin. But I must put my folded omelets and chunky scrambles aside and appreciate the delicacy:

We also learned how to perfectly poach an egg. And, although I already know this will anger my father, we were highly advised from using the "vortex" method. The water should be moving "slightly, like a summer's breeze". There are no vortexes in France apparently, only soft breezes to aid our little egg friend from falling apart. How kind and gentle. 

My favorite types are the eggs cooked in dishes and, of course, the hard and soft boiled eggs. They make you feel so regal. Eating a tiny egg out of a tiny cup with a tiny spoon. So stupid, but so fun. 

Also, MAN, there is a lot of butter in French cooking. We learned how to properly fry an egg with enough butter to satisfy a Texan! Although it did look prettier than anything you would find in the south. You would need to add at least 3 times the amount of bacon. 

This is making me hungry. I just might go poach an egg. 

-H