I've never made a soft boiled egg. This is a true story. I've always been slightly intimidated by the task, preferring to hard boil the bujeezes out of my eggs just to make sure they are cooked.
This, I've decided, is silly. Because I love a runny yolk. I love how it merges with toast to create that bread-eggy goo that when sprinkled with salt and a little fresh pepper is breakfast magic.
So this morning (yes, I am writing to you same day!), I went for a run. This is not unusual. But today it was. Since my biking accidents, I've been having some trouble running. There's something going on in my right leg that's just not quite right.
But today, I decided I was going to conquer two obstacles together: the lack of soft boiled eggs in my life AND this running business.
So I went for a run. I ran SLOWLY. So slowly, that stationary objects were passing me. And I had to remind myself with every step to keep it slow. I have this problem: I like to jack up the pace like a maniac, thinking faster is better. More is more and so must be better. But much like the eggs, less is sometimes more. Less cooking time, less speed, less less less...
I returned home with a 40 minute easy run behind me, groceries and these flowers in hand and set to the task of making breakfast. I looked up "soft boiled eggs" on the Internet. What a resource, this Internet. What did we do before this? Ask people? I found this article on soft boiling eggs and followed the instructions exactly.
I was not disappointed. I made two soft-boiled-to-perfection eggs, with a little whole wheat bun slathered in coconut butter. Coconut butter is my new favorite kind of butter.
So, go slowly. Make some soft boiled eggs. And stop to smell the flowers.