In Which I Learn to Speak French...sort of

Oeufs en cocotte is just baked eggs

 When I was a precocious 20-something, I took out a loan and bought a Bon Appetit magazine.

I thought that was the height of culinary mastery. This was before the internet or Food Network; even before Emeril. I couldn't even make most of the recipes in the publication because they called for exotic ingredients like capers and quail and I was more on a budget of peanut butter and chicken livers.

There was only one dish I could make in the Bon Appetit magazine and that was oeufs en cocotte. Just eggs, cream, and butter -- that's it...only in French. It was in French and I could afford it, so saved the recipe.

This was when, in order to save a recipe, you cut it out, printed it or copied it by hand.

 Then you put it into a recipe box. 

For any non-boomers reading this, a recipe box was an actual, physical box. Theoretically, the recipes were neatly glued to or written on 3x5 index cards and categorized by meal type.

In terms of judging other cooks, size mattered. If you had a tidy 4x4x6 recipe box with clean cards covered in glistening plastic holders, you were obviously a “throw a can of soup on it” type of cook.

Real cooks had huge, sticky monstrosities with ripped magazine pages crammed in between the category markers and pieces of paper with cryptic instructions like “bang it against the counter until soft then boil for 15 minutes in the pot with the loose handle,” with no indication as to what was being prepared.

Every female Boomer had (or has) one of these, no matter what they tell you. Most of them still have the ones that belonged to their mothers. We’ve come a long way, Baby -- but ya gotta eat.

And that is where the recipe for oeufs en cocotte has stayed for the last 40 years. It would surface now and then and I’d consider taking a stab at it. But, honestly – have you met my family? I’d just have to say the name of the recipe and everyone would start doing bad Maurice Chevalier and Julia Child impressions.

No -- sunny-side up was good enough for the likes of the Jacksons.

I haven’t delved into my recipe box in years. My old standby recipes by this time are etched into my brain; and between the internet, cookbooks and YouTube, I’m never without a source for new stuff.

In fact, it was while I was on Pinterest (my Happy Place) that oeufs en cocotte popped up again, only in the guise of “baked eggs.” Oeufs en cocotte are presumptuous; baked eggs are the eggs of the people.

I got creative and added spring onions and spinach

An egg’s an egg, right? Oh! No, no………non! Baked eggs are creamy and satiny; they are eggs for the discerning egg lover*. 

I could have been enjoying baked eggs for the past 40 years!

So now I’m thinking about all the other things I’ve avoided for equally stupid reasons. Shall I tackle Proust? Start listening to K-Pop? Join the Society for Creative Anachronism?

I suppose I should, perhaps, learn French.

*There is no other term for an “egg lover.” I spent way too much time finding this out.

With baguettes from Madison Farmers' Market