Anglesey Eggs

February, and the kitchen window has fogged over again. The leeks came from the market this morning, fat and muddy, the sort that take both hands to hold. They're a winter vegetable at heart, and this is a winter dish. It doesn't pretend to be anything else.

Anglesey eggs is a supper that has fed families on Ynys Môn for as long as anyone can remember. Hard-boiled eggs, leeks, mash, cheese sauce. That's it. No technique to speak of. No ingredient that requires a special trip. Just honest food, assembled with a bit of care, put in the oven, and brought to the table when it's golden and bubbling and the kitchen smells like the kind of evening where nobody checks their phone.

I come back to this dish every year when the cold sets in properly. There's something about putting a hot, golden baking dish on the table and watching people help themselves that satisfies in a way more complicated food rarely does. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone, and this is the warm plate at its most direct. Mash, eggs, cheese, done.

I wrote it down in the notebook years ago. Just the word "Anglesey" and a tick. I knew what it meant.