Image The dessert île flottante, or floating island, at Lafayette restaurant. Credit... Philip Greenberg for The New York Times

Mr. Mendes said that his egg’s presentation was inspired by Alain Passard’s egg with maple syrup at Arpege in Paris, where he once worked. Using an egg popper, he made an indentation toward the top of a raw egg’s shell, which he then trimmed with a paring knife. “We try to keep the edges as smooth as possible,” he said. “At Arpege, we used sandpaper.”

Mr. Ruhlman asked questions as Mr. Mendes worked, the two sharing a kitchen shorthand. Mr. Ruhlman’s benign Midwestern affect makes him seem smaller than his 6-foot-3, though, to Mr. Mendes, he seemed larger than life, a father confessor who affirmed his every concern. Mr. Mendes cooked as he talked, scooping his egg mixture into two shells, crowning them with frizzled potatoes.

“Mmm,” Mr. Ruhlman said. “Delicate, creamy, salty, but not too. I love the combination of elegance and peasantry. That’s beautiful, Chef.” Watching them, I suddenly wasn’t sure if I was actually standing there or was at home in front of the television.

After we left, I expressed surprise that so much effort went into a dish billed on the menu as a “snack.” Mr. Ruhlman nodded. “Working as a chef can be mind-numbingly boring,” he said. “The reason dishes are so good is not because someone is a genius, but because he or she has done it a thousand times. They are looking to keep their minds active and energetic.”

Image Egg salad and tuna salad on toasted rye with lettuce, at Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop. Credit... Philip Greenberg for The New York Times

His point was proved at Highlands, a Scottish gastro pub in the West Village. Although we had come for the Scotch eggs, Matt Hardner, the chef and a New Zealand native, also a fan of Mr. Ruhlman’s, regaled him first with tales of a Hollandaise flavored with HP sauce, the British A-1, injected into the yolk of a soft-boiled egg. We cut through our sausage-encased eggs, and each yolk ran golden onto the plate.