How to boil an egg by Simon Hopkinson

As a six-year-old I recall being fascinated while watching my paternal grandfather prepare his boiled egg. He would gently, repeatedly, tap his egg with the back of a teaspoon and the shell would star into such minuscule fragments that he was able to remove the fragile bald pate in just the one go. This then neatly revealed the smoothest white dome – the fat end – ready for the spoon to spoil.

It always oozed and wobbled, perfectly, the inside of that egg. In fact, the golden yolk would, occasionally, overflow the crest of the broken shell, all sticky down the blue-striped egg cup as it dribbled.

His final task was to carefully mix together salt and white pepper, ready ground, naturally, in a weeny heap on the side of his plate, so to perfectly season each mouthful.

For those who have always considered me to be something of a pedant, now you know where it may have started. To be frank, spending a small part of one’s life perfecting the cooking and eating of a morning egg is, for me, high on the list of good things to do. Far more important than sex. And texting.

There are, for me, three ways to eat a boiled egg: a runny-yolked one for breakfast; a not-quite-so-runny-yolked one but with a firmly set white; and a boiled egg for slicing, or to be chopped and added to mayonnaise as a sandwich filling – particularly good when seasoned with anchovy. And that’s it. But to achieve perfection, the following cooking methods should be strictly adhered to.

When buying eggs I ruthlessly rummage to the very back of the supermarket display to find the latest date possible. It is also well worth saying here, that the best and freshest store-bought eggs I have found are those from Clarence Court.

The perfect eggs

I firmly believe that to bring an egg up to an obvious simmer, not a full boil, from cold water produces the finest texture of both yolk and white. The pan used should have a thin base if cooking on a gas flame, or if on a flat, electric heat, the pan must have a perfect contact with the source, for the faster the water heats up, the more efficient the timing.

To aid speed, the pan should be covered, and I have always favoured a rather cheap one with a glass lid, enabling a beady eye on optimum simmer. The eggs used here are medium-sized, 60-65g, and always at room temperature.

For a morning egg with a just-set white and runny yolk throughout, once the water is simmering, switch off the heat, leave the lid intact and leave in the water for 1 minute. Lift out with a spoon and put in an egg cup. Eat at once, with soldiers.

For an egg with a firmer white and semi-runny yolk, leave for 2 minutes. For an egg with firm white and slightly firmer yolk – yet still soft-textured – 3 minutes. Four minutes is a perfect egg to be quartered, or sliced, in a Sunday evening lettuce salad, say, or as an egg mayonnaise. And 5 minutes, for me, is as long as I need a hard-boiled egg to be cooked: the yolk is just firm and, once cold, will easily peel at a picnic.

The ideal soldiers

A word regarding soldiers. When a perfect soldier is dunked into the running yolk of a perfectly boiled egg, it needs to be ramrod straight. To achieve this, it is important to employ the correct bread.

I always use the French pain de mie. This has a soft crumb, almost en route to brioche, but less rich. It crisps beautifully, but particularly so when enriched with a little butter before toasting; and by that, I mean almost fried. To achieve this, very lightly brush a thick slice of pain de mie with finest, unsalted, melted butter. Now, moderately heat a solid, non-stick frying pan, place the bread in the pan, butter-side down, and turn the heat down even lower.

While the bread is colouring underneath, carefully brush the top side with more butter. When golden beneath, flip the slice over and repeat the process. Once both sides are equally gilded and super-crisp, slice into 1.5cm fingers.

Note A slow and quiet care taken with the cooking will, eventually, produce the most crisp of dinky soldiers.

Simon Hopkinson is a chef and author of The Vegetarian Option (Quadrille, £12.99)

Richard H Turner’s scotch eggs

Richard H Turner’s scotch eggs. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

Makes 4

eggs 5 large

plain flour 50g, seasoned with salt and pepper

simple sausage meat 300g

fresh breadcrumbs 100g

vegetable oil for deep frying

Place 4 of the eggs in a pan of cold water, bring to the boil and cook for exactly 3 minutes, remove from the heat and allow to cool in the water, then peel and reserve.

Dust the boiled eggs in seasoned flour, keeping the remaining flour for later.

Divide the sausage meat into 4 equal portions. Form each portion into a flat cake large enough to fit around the egg. Work the sausage meat around the egg as evenly as possible while keeping the egg shape and making sure there are no cracks. Place the scotch eggs in the fridge for 20 minutes to firm up.

Preheat your oven to 200C/gas mark 6. Beat the remaining egg. Remove the scotch eggs from the fridge and roll in the reserved seasoned flour followed by the beaten egg, then into the crumbs, making sure to coat the surface well at each stage.

In a deep pan, heat the oil to 180C, or to when a small piece of bread rises and turns golden in 30 seconds. Fry the scotch eggs in the oil, turning frequently, for 3 minutes. Remove the scotch eggs and place them in the preheated oven for 5 minutes or until golden brown all over.

Richard H Turner is a writer and restaurateur

Elizabeth David’s omelette Molière

Elizabeth David’s omelette Molière. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

There was, no doubt there still is, a small restaurant in Avignon where I used to eat about twice a week, on market days, when I was living in a rickety old house in a crumbling Provençal hill-top village about 20 miles from the city of the Popes. Physically and emotionally worn to tatters by the pandemonium and splendour of the Avignon market, tottering under the weight of the provisions we had bought and agonised at the thought of all the glorious things which we hadn’t or couldn’t, we would make at last for the restaurant Molière to be rested and restored.

It was a totally unpretentious little place and the proprietors had always been angelically kind, welcoming and generous. They purveyed some particularly delicious marc de champagne and were always treating us to a glass or two after lunch so that by the time we piled into the bus which was to take us home we were more than well prepared to face once more the rigours of our mistral-torn village. But even more powerful a draw than the marc was the delicious cheese omelette which was the Molière’s best speciality. The recipe was given to me by the proprietress whose name I have most ungratefully forgotten, but whose omelette, were there any justice in the world, would be as celebrated as that of Madame Poulard. Here it is.

Serves 1

Beat one tablespoon of finely grated parmesan with 3 eggs and a little pepper.

Warm the pan a minute over the fire. Put in half an ounce (14g) of butter. Turn up the flame. When the butter bubbles and is about to change colour, pour in the eggs.

Add one tablespoon of very fresh gruyere cut into little dice, and one tablespoon of thick fresh cream. Tip the pan towards you, easing some of the mixture from the far edge into the middle. Then tip the pan away from you again, filling the empty space with some of the still liquid eggs. By the time you have done this twice, the gruyere will have started to melt and your omelette is ready. Fold it over in three with a fork or palette knife, and slide it on to the warmed omelette dish. Serve it instantly.

From An Omelette and a Glass of Wine by Elizabeth David (Grub Street, £14.99)

José Pizarro’s tortilla de bacalao

José Pizarro’s tortilla de bacalao. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

Another tortilla de bacalao? Well yes, I couldn’t write a book on the food of the Basque Country and not include this recipe. It’s a must-have dish when you are in a sidrería (cider house). When you caramelise the onions, make plenty as you can keep them in the fridge for at least a week – they make a great addition to any sandwich, or just on toast with some goat’s cheese. Heaven.

Serves 4-6

salt cod 400g

olive oil 125ml

white onions 3 large, finely sliced

thyme a handful, leaves stripped

free-range eggs 6

freshly ground black pepper

flat-leaf parsley a handful, finely chopped

Soak the cod in cold water, skin side up, for 24 hours, changing the water a couple of times.

Heat the oil in a large pan and gently fry the onions for a few minutes. Cover with a lid and cook over a low heat for 25 minutes until really soft. Remove the lid, add the thyme leaves and cook for a further 20-25 minutes until really caramelised and sticky. Scoop out with a slotted spoon, keeping some of the oil, and cool.

Remove the skin from the cod and flake into large pieces.

Beat the eggs with plenty of black pepper and gently fold in the onion, cod and parsley.

In a large (23cm) non-stick pan, heat 2-3 tablespoons of the reserved oil and pour in the egg mixture. Swirl the pan over a high heat until the mixture starts to set around the edges, then reduce the heat and cook for 4-5 minutes until it just starts to set, so that the bottom and sides are golden but it is still quite loose in the middle.

Cover the pan with a flat lid or board, turn the tortilla carefully onto it, then put the pan back on a low heat. Return the tortilla to the pan, cooked side up, and use a spatula to tuck the edges of the tortilla under to give its characteristic curved look. Cook for a couple of minutes, then turn onto a board and serve. It should still be lovely and juicy when you cut into it.

From Basque: Spanish Recipes from San Sebastián & Beyond by José Pizarro (Hardie Grant, £25)

Andrew Wong’s egg fried rice

Andrew Wong’s egg fried rice. Photograph: Yuki Sugiura

Use cooked rice that has been chilled rather than fresh rice from the steamer. If you like your fried rice to have a warm yellow glow, add an extra egg yolk.

Serves 2

vegetable oil for stir-frying

egg 1, lightly beaten

cooked long-grain rice 200g, chilled (100g uncooked rice)

salt and white pepper

spring onion 1, green part finely chopped

sesame oil 1 tsp

Make sure your wok is clean and dry and then heat it until smoking. Coat with a thin film of vegetable oil, then immediately pour this oil out into a bowl. This process will prevent the rice from sticking to the wok.

Add a tablespoon of cold vegetable oil to the wok and, just as it begins to smoke, add the beaten egg, agitating it so that it scrambles. If the egg sticks at this point, remove it and repeat the previous treatment of the wok.

Add the rice and begin to mix it with the egg. If you have large lumps of rice, use the back of a ladle to break them up. When the rice has warmed through, season it with salt and pepper to taste.

Finish by adding the chopped spring onion greens and the sesame oil.

From A Wong: The Cookbook by Andrew Wong (Mitchell Beazley, £25)