In which the Domestic Daemon challenges the laws of physics

As many people will testify, I am an excellent cook.

Provided, of course, that the food is served in the dark.

Preferably to the blind.

My mother has always described my culinary efforts as party food for the blind, which I think is a little unfair. Sometimes my creations look perfectly presentable. Sometimes they look as though they have been involved in a serious road accident.

But they generally taste all right.

Michel Roux Jr, that distinguished gentleman from MasterChef: The Professionals, would probably not be impressed.

Being an enthusiastic follower of cooking programmes on television, I eventually decided that the time had come to improve my culinary skills.

I would start following recipes.

Properly.

From the beginning.

Back to basics, as they say.

Having already mastered the art of making tea, I felt reasonably confident about progressing to the next stage of my education.

Boiling an egg.

Hard-boiled eggs presented no particular difficulty. Admittedly, the yolks occasionally developed a rather alarming greenish tinge, but they were unquestionably hard-boiled.

Soft-boiled eggs, however, remained beyond my capabilities.

Clearly, professional assistance was required.

Enter Saint Delia.

Delia Smith, patron saint of the domestically bewildered, has made it her life’s mission to teach the British public how to cook. Among her many excellent books is Delia’s Complete How to Cook, which begins, reassuringly, with instructions on boiling an egg.

An entire set of instructions.

For an egg.

Surely, I thought, even I could manage that.

One morning, I decided to treat the Long-Suffering Husband to breakfast.

I cannot remember the precise date, but it may well have been his birthday.

Whatever the occasion, I was determined to make it special.

There would be tea, toast and his absolute favourite: soft-boiled eggs.

I retrieved Saint Delia’s book from the shelf and studied the relevant passage with the concentration normally reserved for assembling a nuclear reactor.

The instructions were clear.

The procedure appeared straightforward.

What could possibly go wrong?

I woke the Long-Suffering Husband and informed him that a special breakfast was being prepared in his honour. He was to make himself comfortable on the sofa and await the arrival of his devoted wife bearing culinary delights.

I put on my best apron.

This was going to be magnificent.

The tea presented no problems whatsoever.

The water for the eggs came to the boil.

I set the timer.

The toast went into the toaster.

Everything proceeded according to plan.

Soon, the breakfast tray was arranged to perfection. Cups, plates, toast, butter, egg cups. It was a picture of domestic bliss.

I surveyed my handiwork with considerable satisfaction.

At last, the Domestic Goddess had arrived.

This would be the beginning of a wonderful, romantic day in which my beloved husband would be thoroughly spoiled.

You should have seen his face when I entered the sitting room carrying the tray.

He was delighted.

Positively beaming.

He settled down, picked up his spoon and tapped the top of his long-awaited egg.

And then his expression changed.

First came surprise.

Then bewilderment.

Then something approaching horror.

The Domestic Goddess was transformed back into the Domestic Daemon with the speed of a lightning strike.

For there, spilling gently over the rim of the egg cup, was a quantity of perfectly runny egg white.

Surrounding a completely hard-boiled yolk.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

A hard-boiled yolk suspended in uncooked egg white.

According to everything I had ever understood about the physical universe, this ought to have been impossible.

And yet there it was.

I had followed the instructions of one of Britain’s most respected cookery writers and produced an egg that appeared to defy the laws of physics.

Somewhere, I imagine, a scientist would have been fascinated.

My husband was not.

And that, dear reader, is why I remain the Domestic Daemon.

Even Saint Delia cannot save me.

In the original post friend Ken posted a comment 24 Aug 2012
You’ve taught science some new tricks,
Via chance or happenstance,
You’ve beat the laws of physics!