Egg.

Morning has broken, my love. But we are in no rush. Come closer to the stove... Let us consider... The Egg. Nature's most delicate gift... First... The Boil. Gentle water... Bubbling like a stream. Lower it in. Three minutes. Just three. A brief pause in time. The white sets... protecting the gold within. Serve it with soldiers... Toast fingers. Dip them gently. It is playful. It is a return to innocence. Now, The Fry. The Sunny Side Up. Listen to the butter. [Sound of soft sizzling] It whispers as it melts. Crack the shell. Do not flip it. Why hide the beauty? Tilt the pan. Spoon the warm fat over the yolk. Bathe it. Caress it. We want a veil of white... like lace. The edges crisp. The centre... soft and yielding. Be gentle. Do not break the heart of the yolk. The Scramble. My favourite. Start cold. Eggs in the pan... A knob of butter. A measure of milk... not too much. Turn on the warmth. Low heat. Stir it. Slowly. Stir it like you are calming a frightened animal. On the heat. Off the heat. A slow dance. We do not want dry lumps. We want... wet velvet. Creamy. Rich. Fold in a spoon of crème fraîch. It is not breakfast... it is a comfort. And finally. The Omelette. The passion of rising heat. Butter foams. ...In go the eggs. We move together now. Shake the pan. Rhythm. Texture. It sets in moments. Don't think. Just feel... Tilt.... Roll. Fold it over... like a secret. Turn it out. Pale gold. Cut into it. "Baveuse" It sighs as it opens. Perfect. You see? It isn't cooking. It's caring. Eat. Stay warm. Carry on.