She is as gracious in person as she is in her book.
I lurked around her table. I barged in on people at a nearby table and pretended to look around. I was the most obvious stalker possible. She was a total professional. A few of the slow poached eggs broke before they could be served and she sent them back to be redone. I haven’t figured out how to make these eggs—I’ve tried twice—but this is the second time I’ve gotten to eat them and they are even lovelier than I remember.
I’m a girl that’s squeamish about uncooked egg white but slow poached eggs, done in the shell and then broken and slid out right before consuming, are creamy, even though they appear underdone. The yolk is the perfect temperature and bursts like a little sun. I’ve said before that she’s a genius with salt in her recipes. I watched that genius in action. She’s not afraid of salt; she pinched it up and made it rain.
My heart sang, “Let me wash dishes for free in your kitchen. You don’t have to share your secrets, I just want to eat your crumbs. I will never leave if you teach me how to sprinkle salt.” It’s a miracle I came home that afternoon.
I accidentally took a swig of her coffee milk. I thought it was chocolate, but it wasn’t.
Did I say there was onion pineapple marmalade and bacon? There was. Sorry to torture you like this.
Too bad I can’t kidnap her and make her be my personal chef. I’m sure if I did that she would still be super nice to me, as she was to everyone. I can’t say the same for all the famous people that were there.
Not to mention that I would be the fattest person alive, at which point she could escape.
I went with the 59th best thing and made myself a breakfast sandwich, with one half of a multigrain English muffin.
It’s about 300 calories. Was completely compliant with my diet. You could probably even put some turkey bacon on it.
Nowhere near as good as Christina’s, but I still have a memory.