I stayed up until too late reading Paul Lisicky’s The Narrow Door and wake up with a little headache and in the mood for something savoury. I take a covid test and think it’s negative but a faint line appears after I’ve made myself a very weak cup of coffee. Yesterday RMJ recommended I watch Thermae Romae Novae, an anime about a Roman architect named Lucius who in each episode struggles with a particular design problem—how to make a bathhouse more innovative to appeal to changing tastes, how to make a pleasurable bath in a narrow space, how to help someone who finds it difficult to get to and from the baths day in and day out—only to get swept, usually through a bath’s drainage system, into different Japanese bath houses during different periods of Japanese history where he always finds the solution. I’m not really familiar with the conventions of anime, so I find it a little jarring at first, but I do enjoy it is and I get an idea about eggs from it.
In one of the episodes, Lucius gets swept into a Japanese hot spring where he sees a basket of eggs submerged in the spring water. The bathers there show him how to eat the hot spring egg, onsen tamago, by cracking one into a little bowl for him, where it wobbles and gleams, and tell him to take it into his mouth in one go. After he gleefully eats it, they hand him warm sake to wash it down. He loves it. I think I might love it too, I want it. At the end of each episode, there’s a five-ish minute documentary with the creator, Mari Yamazaki, about a different aspect of Japanese bathing culture, and at the end of this episode she tries the hot spring eggs for herself. The person who works at the onsen explains that the eggs are placed in rope nets and left in the spring water for 30-40 minutes before serving. Because the yolk and the white solidify at different temperatures, the white emerges from the shell with the silky texture of custard while the yolk retains a kind of jammy texture. She serves Yamazaki her egg with dashi and explains that, because of the long cooking time, the spring water imparts a mineral taste to the egg. I search around to see if it’s possible to make an approximation of this egg at home and find something I think might work.
Onsen tamago
I bring about 900ml of water to the boil, turn off the heat, add about 200ml of cold tap water to the pan with the eggs and cover with a lid. I think they will take about 15 minutes to poach in their shells, but set a timer for 10 so I can use those last 5 to cook some noodles and peas in veggie broth and a little soy sauce. I tong the noodles into a deep bowl, spoon in some peas, and pour over some broth before the final timer rings. I am a bit nervous about cracking the eggs and when I take them out of their warm bath I run them under cold water for a minute just to give myself a bit of time to work up the courage. I am really terrible at cracking eggs and have never been able to master the art of doing it one handed. I tap the eggshell gently against the counter top and then harder, hold it over the bowl of noodles and open the shell up until the egg, sorry to use this word, plops out. I repeat this with the other egg. They look good, I’m surprised to say, but they taste better. When I try to get to the yolk, the egg white slips away, dispersing in flecks into the broth, and I find I can hold the entire, unbroken sphere of yolk between my chopsticks.
This egg method is the second egg method I have learnt from popular culture. The first was Samuel ’Chip’ Delaney’s scrambled eggs. I think he wrote about them in Letters from Amherst or Heavenly Breakfast but I can’t check because a friend has Heavenly Breakfast and Letters from Amherst is at home where I still am not. This method is frankly a little faffy but the results are consistently, impressively good. When I make Eggs, After Chip as they have come to be known in my house, I place a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water, add a quantity(?) of unsalted butter and wait for it to melt, and then add 6 eggs. Enough I think for a weekend breakfast for two. I use a whisk at first to keep things moving, and when the eggs begin to stiffen after about 10 minutes switch to a spatula. When they look almost to my liking, I add crème fraîche. I think Delaney uses cream at this stage and when they’re ready he tops them with finely chopped chives. I don’t often have chives in but if—rarely the case—I’ve planned ahead, I’ll make sure to get them and smoked salmon too. They are good as they are though: on toast, flaked sea salt, too much pepper.
Twice cooked crumble
At some point I eat some crumble, not because I’m especially hungry, but because my soul needs to eat. I think it’s better day two. More bite in the crumble. In the afternoon a sensation in my jaw that I suspect will become a migraine arrives and by evening has bloomed like ink in water across the whole left side of my head. I feel uninspired but hungry so cook a fishcake from a packet and serve it with some rocket and an avocado dressed in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a little salt, swallow a sumatriptan, and turn in early.
Uninspired fish cake and salad
Cornelius Prior (they/them): I’m a writer and an editor in the cultural sector. I write about books, homosexuality, cities, and occasionally art and moving image.
Klaussie Williams (she/her): I’m an artist and bookseller. I make abstract water colours, book jacket illustrations, and draw the places and things I like.