One of the obvious, yet I think undersung, features of an egg is its versatility outside of the kitchen. You can dye them for Easter; you can make a face mask with the white; you can place one inside a dog’s mouth and watch them handle it with care. And you can throw them at buildings, vehicles, and people you find morally abhorrent and generally awash in loser-dom!
We don’t hear about that last usage so much anymore. I’ve found “We should egg his house” is a frequent suggestion in the context of interpersonal strife, but in my experience, it’s more meant as a display of solidarity with a heartbroken friend’s plight than a serious proposal to fire away. So what ever happened to good old-fashioned egging?
According to the Wikipedia page titled “Objects thrown at politicians,” eggs appeared to be the projectile of choice for protesters in the mid-late 20th Century; Nixon was egged on several occasions in the ‘50s and ‘60s. In 1979, a Communist threw an egg at Sen. Ted Kennedy (although I can’t find much verification for this beyond the Wikipedia page). And in 2001, shortly before meeting with a group of businessmen in Poland, Bill Clinton was egged by a 19-year-old anticapitalist protester as he left an antique store. Apparently, Bill took it in good faith, removing his jacket and saying: “It’s good for young people to be angry about something.” Hm…does he still think that?
By the mid-2000s, it looks like Americans pivoted to more creative throws; there were several pie-ings; the famous Bush shoe; Sarah Palin got literal tomatoes thrown at her; Newt Gingrich was “glitter-bombed.” Either eggs got too expensive, or our aim got worse, or the crimes of our leaders began to outsize the punishment of a yolk to the face. (Eater actually ranked some of the most throwable foods for protesting; I largely agree on their assessment of eggs, although I think they lose a bit in the accuracy category. Not everyone has a great arm!)
That being said, there seems to be some sort of egging revival happening in our current moment. Cybertrucks keep getting egged, and while Waymos are being spared a splat and just going up in flames instead, eggs have been a semi-significant part of the anti-ICE actions in California the past 10 days.
Again, eggs are everywhere when you start looking. The response to a yolky projectile hitting a government-operated vehicle or building? Something called “less-lethal” or “nonlethal” munitions, crowd control tactics designed to bruise, burn, and disperse — but often inflict much more dangerous wounds. I don’t know about you but I have never really seen an egg leave a hole in someone’s leg?
These ^ are probably more meaningful uses of an egg than whatever I did with mine this week, which was: attempt two brand-new-to-me methods of cooking. Watching my eggs in boiling water, their little bodies wiggling and twitching ever so slightly, they did look a little angry, like they could be saying: THROW ME!
TUESDAY: 2/10
HUGE! I got my first reader tip — thank you, Carolyn. I was familiar with the cover method, like I’ve seen it on television or in a movie, but frankly I never attempted this before because I did not understand the science behind it. If the yolk didn’t hit the pan, how would it cook? For some reason, I didn’t trust steam alone to do it. But I took Carolyn’s advice and covered my little eggs anyway.
I left them longer than I normally would on account of my being dubious of steam’s ability to properly cook the yolk. This was a massive mistake. Carolyn was right; it is faster, and I left it on the pan for wayyyyyy too long. The result was something resembling a toy that comes in a Fisher-Price kitchen set.
When I cut into these, there was no running, spilling, nor shooshing. The yolk almost looked like the inside of a baked potato. I had it with some toast. This lunch would’ve been a 1/10 on the eggnometer, but I’m giving myself a courtesy point for trying something new.
THURSDAY: 10/10 !!!!!
I decided to continue my adventurous streak by trying my hand at the classic “jammy egg.” These have intrigued me ever since I first watched Timothee Chalamet eat one in Call Me By Your Name. I had never seen an egg holder before — those precious little chalaces to rest an egg in — and while the reality of a jammy egg never did much for me in my imagination, I thought the concept refined.
I used this video from Aimee France and followed her directions nearly exactly. (I don’t count this as “looking up” tips as I’m a regular watcher of Aimee and this came across my feed!)
I put a big pot of water on to boil and set two cold eggs in a warm bath to prevent any explosions later on. This part of the process — taking care of the eggs, in a sense — made me feel nice in a confusing way, sort of like how I feel when I stick my fingers in sand or wring out a washcloth or hang a piece of clothing to dry. Like, I should be barefoot in a stained apron with sweaty wisps of hair sticking to the back of my neck, and if someone asked me what an iPhone was, I’d be like “what are you even talking about?” before going to nurse a baby. Very weird — will investigate that experience privately!
Once the water boiled, I transferred the eggs into the pot clumsily. This left a hairline fracture in one of the eggs and a sad sense of defeat in my spirit. I remembered Aimee said to very gently set them in the water with a spoon; I had just gone in with my dirty paws and plopped them in. Lesson learned.
After about six minutes and 10 seconds of boiling, I took the eggs out and set them in an ice bath for three minutes. The crack was still there, but it didn’t look like anything had come out!
Then I got to peeling. I would say this was the most annoying part of the process (my shells didn’t come off as easily as Aimee’s), but it was satisfying to get the membrane under my thumb and pull. Eventually, I had revealed — to my eyes, at least — two perfectly soft-boiled eggs.
I kept squeezing and admiring them; I’d never held a soft-boiled egg before, and I enjoyed the little bit of bounce it had when I pinched it. They looked almost too nice to cut into, and I was scared that the euphoria of the moment would be ruined by my opening the eggs up and finding two overcooked yolks. But eventually I got hungry enough and decided I’d taken enough photos of two rather plain-looking eggs, and cut into them.
They were indeed the exact jamminess I wanted. I had them with two pieces of toast, and it was very special. (Friday looked like me trying to replicate this exact meal, but failing miserably for a reason I haven’t been able to figure out yet.)
Enjoy this video of my angry eggs! XOXOXOXO
Ah the beautiful jamminess of those yolks! I grew up eating soft-boiled eggs with brits in egg cups and I've never understood how to eat them without the cup.