The Home of Guy

Observer Food Monthly's 20 best egg recipes

How to boil an egg by Simon Hopkinson.

'Spending a small part of one's life perfecting the cooking and eating of a morning egg is, for me, high on the list of good things to do.' Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

How to boil an egg by Simon Hopkinson As a six-year-old I recall being fascinated while watching my paternal grandfather prepare his boiled egg. He would gently, repeatedly, tap his egg with the back of a teaspoon and the shell would star into such minuscule fragments that he was able to remove the fragile bald pate in just the one go. This then neatly revealed the smoothest white dome – the fat end – ready for the spoon to spoil. It always oozed and wobbled, perfectly, the inside of that egg. In fact, the golden yolk would, occasionally, overflow the crest of the broken shell, all sticky down the blue-striped egg cup as it dribbled. His final task was to carefully mix together salt and white pepper, ready ground, naturally, in a weeny heap on the side of his plate, so to perfectly season each mouthful. For those who have always considered me to be something of a pedant, now you know where it may have started. To be frank, spending a small part of one's life perfecting the cooking and eating of a morning egg is, for me, high on the list of good things to do. Far more important than sex. And texting. There are, for me, three ways to eat a boiled egg: a runny-yolked one for breakfast; a not-quite-so-runny-yolked one but with a firmly set white; and a boiled egg for slicing, or to be chopped and added to mayonnaise as a sandwich filling – particularly good when seasoned with anchovy. And that's it. But to achieve perfection, the following cooking methods should be strictly adhered to. When buying eggs I ruthlessly rummage to the very back of the supermarket display to find the latest date possible. It is also well worth saying here, that the best and freshest store-bought eggs I have found are those from Clarence Court. The perfect eggs I firmly believe that to bring an egg up to an obvious simmer, not a full boil, from cold water produces the finest texture of both yolk and white. The pan used should have a thin base if cooking on a gas flame, or if on a flat, electric heat, the pan must have a perfect contact with the source, for the faster the water heats up, the more efficient the timing. To aid speed, the pan should be covered, and I have always favoured a rather cheap one with a glass lid, enabling a beady eye on optimum simmer. The eggs used here are medium-sized, 60-65g, and always at room temperature. For a morning egg with a just-set white and runny yolk throughout, once the water is simmering, switch off the heat, leave the lid intact and leave in the water for 1 minute. Lift out with a spoon and put in an egg cup. Eat at once, with soldiers. For an egg with a firmer white and semi-runny yolk, leave for 2 minutes. For an egg with firm white and slightly firmer yolk – yet still soft-textured – 3 minutes. Four minutes is a perfect egg to be quartered, or sliced, in a Sunday evening lettuce salad, say, or as an egg mayonnaise. And 5 minutes, for me, is as long as I need a hard-boiled egg to be cooked: the yolk is just firm and, once cold, will easily peel at a picnic. The ideal soldiers A word regarding soldiers. When a perfect soldier is dunked into the running yolk of a perfectly boiled egg, it needs to be ramrod straight. To achieve this, it is important to employ the correct bread. I always use the French pain de mie. This has a soft crumb, almost en route to brioche, but less rich. It crisps beautifully, but particularly so when enriched with a little butter before toasting; and by that, I mean almost fried. To achieve this, very lightly brush a thick slice of pain de mie with finest, unsalted, melted butter. Now, moderately heat a solid, non-stick frying pan, place the bread in the pan, butter-side down, and turn the heat down even lower. While the bread is colouring underneath, carefully brush the top side with more butter. When golden beneath, flip the slice over and repeat the process. Once both sides are equally gilded and super-crisp, slice into 1.5cm fingers. Note A slow and quiet care taken with the cooking will, eventually, produce the most crisp of dinky soldiers. Simon Hopkinson is a chef and author of The Vegetarian Option (Quadrille, £12.99)

Richard H Turner's scotch eggs

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Richard H Turner's scotch eggs. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

Makes 4 eggs 5 large plain flour 50g, seasoned with salt and pepper simple sausage meat 300g fresh breadcrumbs 100g vegetable oil for deep frying Place 4 of the eggs in a pan of cold water, bring to the boil and cook for exactly 3 minutes, remove from the heat and allow to cool in the water, then peel and reserve. Dust the boiled eggs in seasoned flour, keeping the remaining flour for later. Divide the sausage meat into 4 equal portions. Form each portion into a flat cake large enough to fit around the egg. Work the sausage meat around the egg as evenly as possible while keeping the egg shape and making sure there are no cracks. Place the scotch eggs in the fridge for 20 minutes to firm up. Preheat your oven to 200C/gas mark 6. Beat the remaining egg. Remove the scotch eggs from the fridge and roll in the reserved seasoned flour followed by the beaten egg, then into the crumbs, making sure to coat the surface well at each stage. In a deep pan, heat the oil to 180C, or to when a small piece of bread rises and turns golden in 30 seconds. Fry the scotch eggs in the oil, turning frequently, for 3 minutes. Remove the scotch eggs and place them in the preheated oven for 5 minutes or until golden brown all over. Richard H Turner is a writer and restaurateur

Elizabeth David's omelette Molière

Elizabeth David's omelette Molière. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

There was, no doubt there still is, a small restaurant in Avignon where I used to eat about twice a week, on market days, when I was living in a rickety old house in a crumbling Provençal hill-top village about 20 miles from the city of the Popes. Physically and emotionally worn to tatters by the pandemonium and splendour of the Avignon market, tottering under the weight of the provisions we had bought and agonised at the thought of all the glorious things which we hadn't or couldn't, we would make at last for the restaurant Molière to be rested and restored. It was a totally unpretentious little place and the proprietors had always been angelically kind, welcoming and generous. They purveyed some particularly delicious marc de champagne and were always treating us to a glass or two after lunch so that by the time we piled into the bus which was to take us home we were more than well prepared to face once more the rigours of our mistral-torn village. But even more powerful a draw than the marc was the delicious cheese omelette which was the Molière's best speciality. The recipe was given to me by the proprietress whose name I have most ungratefully forgotten, but whose omelette, were there any justice in the world, would be as celebrated as that of Madame Poulard. Here it is. Serves 1 Beat one tablespoon of finely grated parmesan with 3 eggs and a little pepper. Warm the pan a minute over the fire. Put in half an ounce (14g) of butter. Turn up the flame. When the butter bubbles and is about to change colour, pour in the eggs. Add one tablespoon of very fresh gruyere cut into little dice, and one tablespoon of thick fresh cream. Tip the pan towards you, easing some of the mixture from the far edge into the middle. Then tip the pan away from you again, filling the empty space with some of the still liquid eggs. By the time you have done this twice, the gruyere will have started to melt and your omelette is ready. Fold it over in three with a fork or palette knife, and slide it on to the warmed omelette dish. Serve it instantly. From An Omelette and a Glass of Wine by Elizabeth David (Grub Street, £14.99)

José Pizarro's tortilla de bacalao

José Pizarro's tortilla de bacalao. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

Another tortilla de bacalao? Well yes, I couldn't write a book on the food of the Basque Country and not include this recipe. It's a must-have dish when you are in a sidrería (cider house). When you caramelise the onions, make plenty as you can keep them in the fridge for at least a week – they make a great addition to any sandwich, or just on toast with some goat's cheese. Heaven. Serves 4-6 salt cod 400g olive oil 125ml white onions 3 large, finely sliced thyme a handful, leaves stripped free-range eggs 6 freshly ground black pepper flat-leaf parsley a handful, finely chopped Soak the cod in cold water, skin side up, for 24 hours, changing the water a couple of times. Heat the oil in a large pan and gently fry the onions for a few minutes. Cover with a lid and cook over a low heat for 25 minutes until really soft. Remove the lid, add the thyme leaves and cook for a further 20-25 minutes until really caramelised and sticky. Scoop out with a slotted spoon, keeping some of the oil, and cool. Remove the skin from the cod and flake into large pieces. Beat the eggs with plenty of black pepper and gently fold in the onion, cod and parsley. In a large (23cm) non-stick pan, heat 2-3 tablespoons of the reserved oil and pour in the egg mixture. Swirl the pan over a high heat until the mixture starts to set around the edges, then reduce the heat and cook for 4-5 minutes until it just starts to set, so that the bottom and sides are golden but it is still quite loose in the middle. Cover the pan with a flat lid or board, turn the tortilla carefully onto it, then put the pan back on a low heat. Return the tortilla to the pan, cooked side up, and use a spatula to tuck the edges of the tortilla under to give its characteristic curved look. Cook for a couple of minutes, then turn onto a board and serve. It should still be lovely and juicy when you cut into it. From Basque: Spanish Recipes from San Sebastián & Beyond by José Pizarro (Hardie Grant, £25)

Andrew Wong's egg fried rice

Andrew Wong's egg fried rice. Photograph: Yuki Sugiura

Use cooked rice that has been chilled rather than fresh rice from the steamer. If you like your fried rice to have a warm yellow glow, add an extra egg yolk. Serves 2 vegetable oil for stir-frying egg 1, lightly beaten cooked long-grain rice 200g, chilled (100g uncooked rice) salt and white pepper spring onion 1, green part finely chopped sesame oil 1 tsp Make sure your wok is clean and dry and then heat it until smoking. Coat with a thin film of vegetable oil, then immediately pour this oil out into a bowl. This process will prevent the rice from sticking to the wok. Add a tablespoon of cold vegetable oil to the wok and, just as it begins to smoke, add the beaten egg, agitating it so that it scrambles. If the egg sticks at this point, remove it and repeat the previous treatment of the wok. Add the rice and begin to mix it with the egg. If you have large lumps of rice, use the back of a ladle to break them up. When the rice has warmed through, season it with salt and pepper to taste. Finish by adding the chopped spring onion greens and the sesame oil. From A Wong: The Cookbook by Andrew Wong (Mitchell Beazley, £25)

Fiona Strickland and Rose Carrarini's curried cauliflower tarts

Fiona Strickland and Rose Carrarini's curried cauliflower tarts. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

You can vary the vegetables used in the filling for these tarts and replace the potatoes with roast pumpkin or even cooked okra (ladies' fingers) or peas.

Makes 12 x 8-10cm individual tarts For the pastry dough plain flour 500g salt 1 tsp unsalted butter 250g egg yolk 1 water 125-250ml butter for greasing plain flour for dusting Advertisement For the filling curry powder 1 tbsp single cream 1.5 litres dijon mustard 2 tbsp eggs 8 egg yolks 2 grated nutmeg a pinch salt ½ tsp ground black pepper cheddar 250g, grated cauliflower 2-3 heads, broken into small florets, blanched and drained potatoes 500g, diced, boiled and drained fresh coriander 1 bunch, coarsely chopped

To make the pastry dough, sift the flour and salt into a bowl, add the butter and rub in with your fingertips until the mixture resembles fresh breadcrumbs. Make a well in the middle and add the egg yolk and 125ml water. Mix vigorously with a fork until almost all the flour is incorporated, then add a little more water and bring the dough together with your fingers, using as little water as possible. The dough should just come together naturally without force, and be soft but firm and not sticky. Shape into a ball, wrap in clingfilm and chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

Grease 12 x 8-10cm individual tart tins with butter. Roll out the dough to about 5mm thick on a lightly floured surface and cut 12 rounds to fit the prepared tart tins. Ease them into the tins and trim off any excess dough. Rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180C/gas mark 4. Line the pastry cases with foil or baking paper and fill with dried beans, baking beans or rice.

Bake blind for 30-35 minutes, till the base is light, golden and dry. Remove from the oven, take out the weights and lining and let cool.

Meanwhile, in a bowl, stir the curry powder into the cream, then beat in the mustard, eggs, egg yolks, nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste.

Preheat the oven to 180C/gas mark 4.

Divide the cheese among the pastry cases, then add the cauliflower, potatoes and most of the coriander. Cover with the egg mixture and top with the remaining coriander.

Bake for about 25 minutes, until firm and golden. Remove from the oven and serve immediately or let cool.

From How To Boil An Egg by Fiona Strickland and Rose Carrarini (Phaidon Press, £22.95)

Nathan Outlaw's English salad

Nathan Outlaw's English salad. Photograph: David Loftus

I call this "English salad" because as a kid this is the only salad I knew. It was always on the table at home and all the ingredients were either grown in the allotment or greenhouse, or bought from the local greengrocer. The dressing was salad cream – never vinaigrette or mayonnaise. This is my version.

Serves 4 raw beetroot 4 malt vinegar 100ml eggs 4 large, at room temperature cucumber 1 full-flavoured salad tomatoes 6 spring onions 1 bunch, trimmed and sliced radishes 1 bunch (or 2 bunches if they are small), halved button mushrooms 6, finely sliced mustard and cress 1 punnet, freshly cut sea salt and freshly ground black pepper For the salad cream egg yolks 2 English mustard 2 tsp caster sugar 2 tsp lemon juice 2 tbsp light olive oil 100ml double cream 150ml

To make the salad cream, put the egg yolks, mustard, sugar and lemon juice into a bowl and whisk for 1 minute. Gradually add the olive oil, drop by drop to begin with and then in a steady stream until it is all incorporated. Slowly whisk in the cream and season with salt to taste. Cover and refrigerate until required.

To cook the beetroot, put them into a pan with the malt vinegar, cover with water and bring to the boil. Simmer for 25-30 minutes until tender.

In the meantime, bring a pan of water to the boil. Gently lower in the eggs and cook for 6 minutes. Remove the eggs from the pan and refresh in ice-cold water. Leave until cold, then peel away the shells.

Once the beetroot are cooked, remove them from the pan and leave until cool enough to handle, then peel away the skin.

Peel and slice the cucumber and place in a large bowl. Cut out the stalk end from the tomatoes and slice each one into 8 wedges. Add to the bowl along with the spring onions, radishes and mushrooms. Season with salt and pepper and toss gently to mix.

Scatter the salad veg over a large serving platter. Cut the boiled eggs in half lengthways and arrange across the salad. Slice the beetroot and lay the slices on the salad. Add drizzles of salad cream and scatter over the mustard and cress. Serve the rest of the dressing separately for everyone to help themselves.

From Nathan Outlaw's Home Kitchen by Nathan Outlaw (Quadrille, £20)

Fuchsia Dunlop's purple seaweed and egg 'flower' soup

Fuchsia Dunlop's purple seaweed and egg 'flower' soup. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

While living in Changsha I was lucky enough to meet one of the really great chefs of the older generation, Shi Yinxiang, then in his late 80s and still overseeing a restaurant bearing his name in the centre of town. Master Shi was born in 1917, the third generation of chefs in his family. He told me he had begun cooking at home at the age of 10, and five years later had started his apprenticeship under a famous chef who had worked in the household of a government official before opening his own restaurant in Changsha. There he learned the subtle arts of Hunanese haute cuisine, and by the 1950s he was working for the government, and in charge of the catering for the visits of national leaders, including Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, Liu Shaoqi and Jiang Zemin. Shi became known for his brilliant and innovative cooking, and in the 1980s he published a comprehensive Hunanese cookery book that brought together his more than 50 years' experience. He is an enchanting man, with a kindly manner and a face that creases up frequently into a beatific smile. He is still riding on a crest of glory as the man who managed to delight Chairman Mao with his cooking, and the first Hunanese chef to be awarded "special first-grade" status.

The following recipe is a humble one, but it's a soup that I ate at Master Shi's restaurant as he told me about his life. The dried seaweed, which is sold in thin discs about 20cm in diameter, and looks black and frizzy before soaking, can be found in good Chinese supermarkets.

Serves 2 as Western style starter, 4 as part of Chinese meal vegetarian stock 1 litre dried purple laver seaweed 1 disc (nori in Japanese) fresh ginger 20g, peeled and slivered salt and white pepper egg 1 spring onion 1, green part only, finely sliced

Heat the stock with the seaweed and ginger and simmer gently as the seaweed reconstitutes itself. Tease the tightly massed disc apart with a pair of chopsticks, so the seaweed drifts in strands in the liquid. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Beat the egg well. Turn the heat down to a minimum, drizzle in the egg into the soup in a thin spiralling stream across the surface. Then turn off the heat, cover the pan tightly and leave for a minute to allow the egg to set into little flakes or "flowers".

Serve immediately with a sprinkling of spring onion.

From The Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook by Fuchsia Dunlop (Ebury Press, £30)

Asma Khan's anda curry – hard-boiled eggs in gravy

Asma Khan's anda curry – hard-boiled eggs in gravy. Photograph: Romas Foord/The Observer

Eggs are the fall-back ingredient in every Indian household. I associate egg curry with monsoons in Calcutta, when the bazaar was closed due to flooding. The local delivery man would bring eggs to our home, cycling through the flooded streets. The egg curry made at home usually included potatoes to make the dish more substantial, though I have omitted them here. You can use any type of egg for this dish, even quail eggs. In India we leave the eggs whole, but you can halve them before returning them to the pan. Just be careful not to lose their yolks in the gravy.

Serves 2 medium eggs 4 vegetable oil 6 tbsp green cardamom pod 1 clove 1 Indian bay leaf 1 cumin seeds ½ tsp onions 2 medium, finely chopped garlic paste 1 tsp fresh ginger paste 1 tbsp ground turmeric ½ tsp ground coriander 1 tbsp chilli powder ½ tsp natural (plain) yogurt 6 tbsp salt 1 tsp fresh herbs a handful, to garnish

If you keep your eggs in the refrigerator, take them out 30 minutes before cooking to bring them to room temperature. Fill a large pan with water and bring to a rolling boil over a high heat. Lower the heat to a simmer, then place the eggs in the water and cook for 12 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the eggs from the pan and place in cold running water to prevent further cooking. When they're cool enough to handle, shell the eggs.

In a shallow saucepan, heat the oil over a medium-high heat. Add the hard-boiled eggs and cook until they are speckled all over with brown patches. Remove the eggs from the pan and set aside.

To the remaining oil, add the cardamom, clove and bay leaf. Add the cumin seeds and cook, stirring, for a few seconds until the seeds darken.

Add the chopped onions, garlic and ginger to the pan, cook for a further 5 minutes until the onion mixture has softened and coloured to a light brown. Continue to stir while cooking to prevent the onions from burning and sticking to the base of the pan. If the onion mixture does stick to the base of the pan, sprinkle over some water.

Add the ground turmeric, coriander and chilli powder. Cook, stirring, for 10-20 seconds or until the "raw" smell of the turmeric has disappeared, taking care not to let the ground spices burn. Pour over 200ml cold water and increase the heat to high.

Once any excess water has evaporated, lower the heat. To avoid any lumps in the sauce, stir the yogurt before adding it to the pan. Stir to mix evenly and then season with salt. Lastly, add the hard boiled eggs to the pan and allow to heat through. Before serving, scatter over plenty of fresh herbs.

From Asma's Indian Kitchen by Asma Khan (Pavilion Books, £20)

Nigel Slater's lemon cream-cheese mousse cake

Nigel Slater's lemon cream-cheese mousse cake. Photograph: Jonathan Lovekin/The Observer

Toasted, flaked almonds add a welcome note of crispness to the base of a cheesecake and lighten the crust. My feeling is that the base should be delicate and barely there, so I avoid pressing the crumbs into the cake tin too firmly, as it tends to compact the mixture.

Serves 8 For the crust flaked almonds 70g plain biscuits 150g, such as Nice or Marie butter 65g For the mousse eggs 4 medium caster sugar 150g lemons 2 large gelatine 5 sheets (9g) full-fat cream cheese 250g double cream 250ml rose petals a handful

You will need a round 20-22cm cake tin with a removable base, lined on the base with a disc of baking parchment.

In a dry, shallow pan, toast the flaked almonds until golden, then remove from the heat. Crush the biscuits to fine crumbs, either in a plastic freezer bag with a rolling pin, or using a food processor.

Melt the butter, then add the crumbs and flaked almonds, and mix thoroughly. Transfer the mixture to the lined cake tin, pressing it in a thin layer over the base. Chill for an hour.

Separate the eggs. Put the whites in a large mixing bowl. Beat the yolks and sugar together using an electric mixer with a whisk attachment until thick and pale. Grate the lemons finely, then add the zest to the yolk mix.

Juice the lemons – you will need 125ml. Soak the gelatine in a bowl of cool water. Warm the lemon juice in a small saucepan and remove from the heat. Lift the softened gelatine from the water (it should be a soft, quivery mass, only just solid enough to pick up) and drop it into the warm juice. Stir until it is dissolved.

Add the cream cheese to the yolk-and-sugar mixture, beating until completely smooth, then add the lemon juice and gelatine. Whip the cream until it's thick enough to sit in soft waves (not quite thick enough to stand in stiff peaks), then fold gently into the mixture. Beat the egg whites until stiff, then fold them in carefully and thoroughly.

Pour the mixture into the chilled cake tin (it should come almost to the top), then cover tightly with clingfilm and chill overnight. (Make sure you don't have anything garlicky in the fridge – mousse-type dishes will pick up the scent overnight.)

The next day, run a warm palette knife around the edge of the cake to release it from the edges, then remove it carefully from the tin. Decorate with the rose petals.

Note that the cake is wobbly and fragile, so keep it chilled until you intend to serve it, and use a cake slice to serve it.

Nigel Slater is the Observer's food writer