
Chef Thomas
Anglesey Eggs
Eggs bedded into leek-flecked mash under a blanket of sharp cheese sauce, baked until golden and bubbling. A Welsh supper dish that proves the simplest things are usually the best.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A thick gammon steak, golden from the pan, a fried egg with a yolk that runs when you cut into it, and proper twice-fried chips. The meal that says more about home than any recipe book ever could.
Some evenings call for something that doesn't ask to be admired. A meal that just gets on with it. The kind where the plate lands on the table and nobody says much for a few minutes because they're too busy eating. Gammon, egg and chips is that meal.
I grew up with this on the table more Fridays than not. A thick gammon steak that sizzled and spat in the pan, the fat crisping at the edges, an egg fried in the same pan so it picked up all those salty, savoury juices, and chips cooked twice because that's how you get a chip that crunches under your teeth and goes soft in the middle. Peas. Always peas. Rolled through butter in a small pan. It's not a complicated plate of food. It's not trying to be.
The chip is the thing that separates a good version from a forgettable one. You have to fry them twice. The first time cooks them through, pale and soft. The second time, in hotter oil, turns them gold and crisp. It takes a bit of patience, but it's the only way. A single fry gives you something limp and apologetic, and this isn't a limp and apologetic kind of dinner.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago. "Gammon. Egg. Proper chips. Friday. Everything right." I still agree with myself.
Quantity
2, about 250g each
cut thick
Quantity
4-5 medium
peeled
Quantity
enough for frying
Quantity
2
Quantity
a generous knob
Quantity
200g
Quantity
a sprig
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| unsmoked gammon steakscut thick | 2, about 250g each |
| Maris Piper potatoespeeled | 4-5 medium |
| groundnut or sunflower oil | enough for frying |
| large free-range eggs | 2 |
| unsalted butter | a generous knob |
| frozen peas | 200g |
| mint (optional) | a sprig |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
Peel the potatoes and cut them into chips about the width of your little finger. Not skinny frites, not fat wedges, somewhere honest in between. Drop them into a bowl of cold water and leave them for ten minutes or so. This rinses off the surface starch and is the difference between chips that crisp and chips that don't. Drain them and dry them properly on a clean tea towel. Pat them. Be thorough. Wet chips spit in hot oil and never go properly golden.
Pour oil into a deep, heavy pan to a depth of about eight centimetres. Heat it over a medium flame until a chip dropped in sizzles gently and rises to the surface, not violently, not lazily, just a steady, purposeful fizz. Fry the chips in two batches for six or seven minutes until they're cooked through but still pale and soft. Lift them out onto a wire rack or a plate lined with kitchen paper. They'll look unfinished. That's right. They need to rest before the second fry.
While the chips rest, snip through the fat around the edge of each gammon steak in three or four places with kitchen scissors. This stops them curling in the pan, which they will, stubbornly, if you don't. If the steaks are particularly salty (give one a small sniff, your nose will tell you), soak them in cold water for twenty minutes and pat dry. Most good butcher's gammon won't need this, but supermarket cuts sometimes do.
Get a large frying pan or griddle pan properly hot. No oil needed. The gammon carries enough fat of its own. Lay the steaks in and cook for four to five minutes on the first side. You'll hear it. A confident sizzle that settles into a steady hiss. When the underside has gone golden brown and the fat at the edges is turning translucent and starting to crisp, turn them over. Another three to four minutes on the second side. The meat should feel firm but not rigid when you press it with the back of a spoon. Move them to a warm plate and let them rest while you finish everything else.
Bring the oil back up to a higher heat. You want it hotter now: a chip dropped in should sizzle immediately and aggressively. Fry the chips in batches again, this time for two to three minutes, until they're deep gold and properly crisp. You'll see the colour change. Lift them onto a tray lined with kitchen paper, season with salt while they're still glistening, and keep them somewhere warm. An oven at its lowest, door ajar, does the job.
Bring a small pan of water to the boil. Drop in the peas and cook for two minutes, no more. Drain them, return them to the pan with the butter and a torn mint leaf if you have one. Stir until the butter melts and coats the peas. Season with salt and a grind of pepper. Frozen peas are a fine thing. No apology necessary. They go from freezer to table in three minutes and taste like they've tried harder than they have.
In the same pan you cooked the gammon in, with all those rendered, salty juices still in the bottom, add a small knob of butter. Let it foam. Crack in the eggs, one at a time, gently. The whites should set quickly on contact, the edges going lacy and golden in the butter and gammon fat. Spoon a little of the hot fat over the top of the whites to set them, but leave the yolks alone. They want to be runny. Completely, gloriously runny. When the whites are set and the yolks are still soft and trembling, they're done.
Warm your plates. This matters. A fried egg on a cold plate loses its warmth in under a minute. Lay the gammon steak on one side, pile the chips alongside, spoon the buttery peas into the gap, and slide the egg on top of the gammon so the yolk sits there waiting to be broken. No garnish. No fuss. Carry it to the table. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone, and this is one of the warm plates that deserves it most.
1 serving (about 630g)
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