Millennium Egg.

Since the poll results were inconclusive, and seeing as I've already made it this far, I have decided to go for the full four week pickling plan. Making it through the next two weeks will be eggscruciating, so I'm kicking in the backup plan: yesterday I rode all the way to Smith street (up hill both ways) and purchased a case of thousand year old duck eggs at the asian market.

It scrambles the mind to ponder the fact that that the duck that laid these eggs was alive during the Song dynasty. These eggs have been around since before Marco “Pollo” got chummy with Kublai Khan, and before Kuo Hsi painted his Early Spring Chicken. This thought scrambles the brain even more when you consider that the Chinese have only been preserving duck eggs for the past 500 years.

These pidan were not as pretty as some I've seen, as they lacked the delicate diffusion crystal patterns, but the taste was eggsquisite.

Tea egg steak II

You may remember my previous attempt at a soy-sauce egg only produced what I would call over-easy results. Today I attempted to increase color and flavor, but ensuring a high concentration of soy-sauce, and I threw in some tea for good measure. Since I didn't want to use up an entire bottle of sauce, I cooked the egg in a double-boiler type contraption, (see Figure 1) where the outer vessel was full of boiling water, and the inner vessel was mostly filled by the egg (with a bit of extra room for tea and soy).



The eggsperiment resulted in more a more intensely colored vein pattern (see Figure 2), but in no perceptible change in the flavor. An added benefit of the double-boiler, is that the water temperature in the inner vessel never reached boiling, so the egg was not over-cooked.

More Egguinox fun.

This balancing trick, is actually very easy -- you just have to plan it a year and a half in advance (unless you know a faster way of making albumen evaporate).

Happy Autumnal Egguinox!

Legend has it that eggs can be balanced on their pointy end only on the spring egguinox. That is utter balderdash! You can also do it on the fall egguinox.

The guy at the store wanted to know why I was opening all of his egg cartons and laying the eggs on the floor. I told him about the egguinox, and even boasted that I could balance an egg on the tip of my nose. It turns out, though, that I couldn't actually do it, and now I've got egg on my face.

Arrrrrrrr!

Happy International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Take a final look at these cackle fruit, me hearties, before I see them to Davy Jones' Locker:

Separating eggs.

Today it is the official two week mark. My eggs have been pickling for almost exactly 14 days. I now feel torn between science and int-egg-rity. Should I taste-test an egg now, or should I stick to the original 4 week plan. It is almost as though I have a little blob of albumen sitting on my right shoulder saying "Don't separate the eggs. The all have an equal right to be fully pickled." and on my left shoulder, a yolk, saying "Eat an egg! eeeEEAT IT!"

I don't know what to do, how can I decide?

What do you, my faithful readers, think?

Should I test-taste an egg in the name of Science?
	Stop making Eggscuses. Stick to the pan!
	Cast off the yolk of abeyance. Eat the deviled egg!
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Flipping.

At first, I didn't want to write about this, but I've decide to stick to my full-disclosure policy. Maybe talking about it will help.

Last night I dreamed that the eggs were ready. I was standing in the kitchen with the open jar in front of me. I reached in and took out an egg. It glistened darkly, like a fat slug at sunset. I took a bite out of the pointy end, and at that moment the egg let out a piercing scream. Large cracks appeared in the kitchen walls, and I smelled sulfur. I turned the egg around, and saw a face embedded in its side. It was my own face, contorted in pain. Blood began to trickle into my eyes, and then everything went black. I woke up to find myself standing in the middle of my bedroom, holding a sneaker in my right hand.

I haven't been able to open the fridge all day; I just can't face seeing the eggs right now.

Yummy Friends.

The pickling eggs complained to me that the Miracle Whip was really full of herself, and that the vindaloo from last tuesday was creeping them out. I figured they just needed to get out of the fridge a little more often, so I set them up with a couple of sweet plums and a nice fuzzy peach.

Aren't they adorable? I could just eat them up!

Thank God for Science!

Since it seems that the recipe leaves me nothing to do but brood over my clutch of eggs, I've been doing a lot of research into pickling eggs. I discovered a huge range of prescribed pickling times: anywhere from one day to three months.

Most everyone I discussed this with believes that I should wait the full four weeks before tasting the eggs. However, it seems to me the in the interest of science, I should taste the eggs at several intervals in order to determine the optimal pickling time. I'm afraid that fate forces my hand, and that I must compromise my integrity in the name of science. After all, it is the scientific thing to do.

Cracked.

The eggs were taunting me all day, so I finally broke down and cooked myself an egg. It was my first attempt at a soy-sauce egg, where a par-cooked egg is simmered in soy-sauce. Unfortunately, the sauce was too diluted, and I didn't want to over-cook the egg (they turn rubbery) so you can't really see the veins of soy very well, and it just tasted like a normal egg. Next time I'll try to make a tea egg using some sort of double cooker to keep the concentration high.

Free-range pickles.

Q: Why did Mr. Dumpty have a great fall?
A: To make up for a miserable summer.

The eggs were getting cabin fever from being “cooped” up in the bottom of my fridge, so I took them out for a little back-yard adventuring.

Here they are on the sunny-side of the yard:

The wait is eggscruciating.

I had some more fool today. I told P. that it would have gone super well with a nice hard-cooked egg. Now P. says I'm not allowed to have any more eggs until the pickles are ready.

Last night I took them out of the fridge to check on them:

And here's a close up:

A dillicious adventure.

Despite his better judgement, C. hatched up the idea of biking over to the Decatur to try out their pickled eggs. We scrambled over there, and C. shelled out the dough for three PEs. (At first P. wasn't sure he wanted one, but we egged him on.) My camera-phone's poached, so I can't post a pic, but they looked eggsactly like hard-cooked eggs. Mine are supposed to come out brown on account of the liquid smoke.

Anyway, eating the eggs was eggcrutiatingly amusing. They were super vinegar-y, and stuck to your mouth. I'm a tad worried now, but I vow that my pickles will beat the Decatur's, or I'll be deviled.

Standing the wait.

One day down... 27 to go. Ok, it hasn't even been one day, and I've already checked on the eggs about 8 times. Um.. make that 9. Pickling is a ridiculously slow way of cooking. Maybe I can make some sort of pressure pickler to speed things up.

This is what the eggs looked like the last few times I checked:



The house still reeks of vinegar.

A fool-ish decision.

I was cooking fool medames today, a dish that is often served with a nice hard-cooked egg. I figured that as long as I'm steaming one egg, I might as well cook a dozen and save the rest for later. If I pickle them, they should still be edible in May.

The one I ate came out perfect -- medium well, with a slightly creamy center. If you've never peeled twelve eggs in one sitting, I highly recommend it.

Anyway, the entire house reeks of vinegar, so I'm going to have to fill in the details later. For now, here's a pic of the eggs sitting in a kimchee jar at the bottom of my fridge:

In a pickle.

Where I chronicle the transformation of eleven hard-cooked eggs into delicious pickles, and what they saw in the bottom of my fridge, and who they met there.