Grandma eggs aka Poached Eggs

It is time for Throwback Thursday again. This week I thought I would share a story from my childhood that I’m sure some of you can relate to. My Grandma Hoelker is no longer with us sadly, but I have so many wonderful memories of her. She was not only that kind and comforting type of Grandma, but she was also a lot of fun. I still miss her dearly.

So to get to my story. One summer I was on vacation with my parents and brother. I think this was the year we went to Springfield, Chicago, and Wisconsin Dells, but I could be wrong. Whichever trip it was we were having breakfast at a restaurant during the trip. My normal order was pancakes as a kid or pigs in a blanket but on this day I apparently had a wild hare (hmmm, is it a wild hair or wild hare) and wanted something different. When the waitress came to take our order I ordered something that came with eggs because she asked “how would you like your eggs?” My response was that I wanted “Grandma eggs please”. The waitress most likely asked again and then looked at my parents for help. I was less than 10 years old, but can’t remember just what age I was. My parents were as perplexed as the waitress. They asked me what a Grandma egg was, I said “the kind that Grandma makes me with the bread”. This did not help at all. My brother and I spent the  night often at Grandma’s and she would make us breakfast, but my parents were never there for that meal so they had no idea what kind of eggs with bread Grandma had been making for me.

poached egg pan

I vaguely remember them going through a list of egg preparations. Scrambled? Nope. Fried? Nope. Over easy? Nope. Hard boiled? Nope. Finally someone said poached, but I did  know that word even so I probably said no to that too. Apparently my big brother offered no help in this dilemma either. Finally the adults figured out that it was indeed a poached egg that I wanted, a Grandma egg.

This story came to mind recently because I once again have started eating poached eggs. Eggs are a good source of protein for me and while I had stayed away from eggs for years (not sure why) I now like them quite a bit. When Hubby wants Cracker Barrel he gets the giant Country Boy Breakfast and I get 1 poached egg -medium, and a turkey sausage patty. The bread part still comes in a bit. When Grandma made the poached eggs for us she would break them up in a little bowl and then tear up half a piece of white bread or white toast and toss it with the egg. Those little bits of bread with the golden yellow and creamy egg yolk on them were the best part! Even the color of a brilliant golden yellow egg yolk against bright white still makes me happy because it reminds me of Grandma. I can still picture her small kitchen with the pale checkerboard tiles and Grandma in her housecoat and adorable little slippers that I thought were so exotic. If she burnt herself she always had an aloe plant in her kitchen windowsill to soothe it – that was her cure all. Along with the eggs she would make “fresh orange juice” and by fresh I mean frozen orange juice but she would make it each morning. She had a glass milk jug that she used for the orange juice and she would shake it up so vigorously that this wonderful citrus foam would form at the top. That was why I called it fresh I think – and that was back in the day where you got those tiny juice glasses of juice with breakfast, not a big jumbo glass.  So we had our little bowl with the Grandma egg and bread, a tiny glass of frothy fresh orange juice, and a cup of milk I  our special straw cups – mine was blue, Brother’s red. And don’t blow bubbles in your milk with that built in straw, it annoys Grandma (although we always did it anyway). Such happy memories

Grandma actually steamed the eggs for us. She had this pot that had an insert on top and then in that sat 4 little inserts that you cracked one egg into each. In the bottom of the pan you had boiling water. I do  not know why they called this poached also since it is not like the poached were you put the egg actually in the water. Anyone know why?

So do you have a family food that you call by some other name that those outside, or sometimes even inside, your family does  not understand?

Robyn

 

Photo Source: Seth Swain and Susanne Davis on Flickr