We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program

OK, there is still more to come on Paris, but I wanted to talk about my breakfast today first. I had the best, most British breakfast I can think of. The English have what they call a full English. This is a fried egg, a rasher of bacon, two sausages, two stewed tomatoes and a helping of baked beans all on the same plate with a side of toast. The baked beans can take some getting used to, but other than that, it is a blissful heart attack on porcelin. The Scottish have their version of a full English, which is egg, square sausages (if you haven't had one, describing them is pointless, but they are heaven) black pudding which is blood sausage, potato scones, which are flat triangles of unleavened potato bread (imagine if tortillas were made from potatoes) and the stewed tomatoes of course. I have had it served with the baked beans as well, but not always. While I love both of these meals, neither is really what I associate with your everyday breakfast in Britain.

My ideal of the typical British breakfast is Egg in a Cup with Soldiers. My Scottish grandparents used to make this for my sister and I when we stayed with them. You take a soft boiled egg and put it in a teacup with butter, salt, and pepper. Take your spoon and mix it all up until you have a nice chunky consistency. Then take two slices of toast (good Scottish whitebread toast) and cut it into strips. These are now your soldiers. You take the soldiers and dip them into the teacup until you get enough on your soldier to get a good mix of egg and bread. Voila! (I know that isn't a British exclamation but oi just didn't seem to fit) the perfect British breakfast. Unfortunately, Grandma wasn't available to complete the ritual. Egg in a Cup and Soldiers doesn't feel quite complete unless Grandma is there to do Stirrup. Stirrup is where she would take the spoon and whip it around the teacup faster than the speed of light and pull out the last of the egg. Before you got to Stirrup, you would swear that cup was bone dry and you didn't have anything for your last soldier. But Grandma would make just enough egg to finish your soldier appear out of thin cup. And when she was done with Stirrup, you could swear that teacup had been washed and dried and was ready to be put away. The ritual is as intricate and important as a Japanese tea ceremony, but tastes better. Maybe next time I get a hankering for Egg in a Cup with Soldiers, I'll take the train up to Yorkshire and get Grandma to help. More on Paris to follow.