Boiled Eggs with Soldiers

Some mornings ask for nothing more than this. The kettle on. The kitchen still quiet. Two eggs in a pan of boiling water, bread in the toaster, butter left out overnight so it's soft enough to spread without tearing. It's the kind of breakfast you can make half asleep, and it rewards you for turning up.

I think most of us learned to eat from a boiled egg. Someone cut the toast into strips, showed us how to dip, and that was it. The first meal we were trusted to participate in. I still feel a version of that when I crack the top off and find the yolk sitting there, bright and liquid, exactly as it should be. There are few better feelings than a boiled egg done properly on a cold morning.

The recipe, if you can call it that, is almost nothing. Boil water. Add eggs. Make toast. But the difference between a good boiled egg and a disappointing one is about sixty seconds, and once you've found your timing, you won't forget it. I keep mine at six and a half minutes. I wrote it in the notebook years ago, and I've never had cause to change it.

We're only making breakfast. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't be right.