Mary Branscombe (marypcb) wrote,
Mary Branscombe

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It seemed an Eggscellent idea at the time

This makes much more sense if you know the story of valkyrie_k's wonderful Diary of a Leftover Egg White - which everyone should. Thanks to the gifted ramtops for the link and indeed having built such a fine site. Anyone else collecting the Waitrose choccie mousse ramekins?

Dearest Valerie

You have been much in my thoughts these past hours, knowing you Returned and Refreshed and also encountering last eventide a Confection of which I thought you would have Views. Atop a bound salad of Potato in the modern ‘Peeled’ style, perched some few slivered green beans, most excellent sweet. Above that, bordered gaily in green, a veritable slab of Tuna - if slab it can be that I compass in the palm of my hand, or even in a single bite. Atop all, perching and pert the Touch that brought you first to mind, a halved soft egg of your fancy; I suspicioned it to be Quail.

Brought to mind by this that it was Some Time since I had put an egg of my own to the Poaching, I repaired to the kitchen this noon and Began Preparation. I was Provided nicely with wheaten bread, and eggs of a Glorious blue shell and sweet butter from the Franks and the necessary vinegar betide. Being of the usual design, the eggs came equipped with both my favoured yolk and that clinging, mawkish, flabby White of which I am No Follower. Carefully I crack’d each egg and neatly tipp’d the yellow jewel from shell to shell to free it from the clinging Embrace then left them slide all Proud and Naked into the water which was hard a’boil.

Thriftily I bestowed the Surplus portion in a small glass ramekin, of which I have equipped myself some Divers number in a way which I have disclos’d and I was all engaged in Satisfaction for the small amount of white remaining on close quarters with the yolk. For I am as you must needs have remark’d upon, the veriest Fusspot. I mused a moment as I prepared all else; the toast butter’d, the water besides hard a’boil for tea, the veriest Morsel of sweet jam atop the last slice of toast as an Afterthought.

Returning the last eggs to the Larder I thought me I should later take the despis'd whites and fashion perhaps this, perhaps that. My mind seeth’d a while with Fond Plots and Dear Fancies. But then it seem’d me a dread figure arose at my shoulder, moaning and wailing and whispering in Bitter Tones of some Awful Fate and I bethought myself, Dearest Valerie, of you. Of a sudden I recalled the Horror, the Exertion, the Expense, the fearful Moral and I stopped on the instant to recall Your Fate. I could not let the Warning pass, could not let your Suffering be in vain.
Reader, I froze them.

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