Country life : egg poachers and neighbours at the mail box

eggs in a basket

I am so excited.

I have a new egg poacher!

Mr FD can poach a fairly decent egg in a saucepan of boiling water with a dash of white vinegar, but the few times I tried, the egg was, well less than delectable.

In the past, we have owned several egg poachers, but they all had plastic cup inserts, which often cause multiple issues. The cup slipping and egg overflowing into the water so that the water would then boil over making an horrible mix of watery egg. The last set of egg cups may have melted when someone left the pan on the stove and forgot to  turn the stove off. That was a few years ago and so we have been egg poacherless since then.

I am Flamingo Dancer, and I have been frying my eggs. Not in fat or lard, but with a little vegetable oil spray, but fried none the less.

So, recently when I was purchasing a chef’s knife for D2 Son-in- law’s birthday (Peppercorn’s Daddy to be) I succumbed to the lure of the shiny new egg poachers and ordered one online.

It arrived while I was in the City and I had to drive to the post office to collect it. Oh Happy Day. To illustrate its importance, it had been packed in a delivery box about twice the size of the actual pan and the said box filled most of my car boot {trunk}.

I raced home with it, wanting to stroke its gleaming newness, but at the mailbox I was flagged down by the neighbouring lady who wanted to chat. I know, niceness. Niceness when I have a new thing!

These neighbours have lived beside us for two years, and while Mr FD and Son have spoken with them, I have somehow never had the honour. For those of long term readership, they are the neighbours who wanted us to chop down our trees to suit them!

Husband has recovered from his foot cancer, but is now so obese he cannot fit down their halls, or pass through their doorways, so they have built an obesity house, as I call it, on the other side of our Village. They will be moving out over the next month. I always seem to get to know neighbours as they move out…oh dear, how sad, not.

So there I am, knowing my new friend The Egg Poacher is waiting for me, and I have to stand and exchange life stories. Twenty minutes. I guess I got some vitamin D. She is lucky she didn’t get a stick list position.

3 thoughts on “Country life : egg poachers and neighbours at the mail box

  1. My first thought was “Oh the poachers are even coming after the eggs now.” Sigh. Hah, it sounds lovely now that I realize what you are talking about. I’m glad hubby has recovered. Having had a big fat tumor in my foot (not cancer but possibly metastastic anyway) I can really sympathize with what a pain it is to go through this stuff in your foot.


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