It would sit there quivering, the food from hell. The white to make you gag. The yolk to make you retch. As the minutes ticked away the skin on the yolk would thicken then shrink. By the time the bacon and sausage had been eaten (slowly, anything to delay the inevitable) a dimple had started to form in the centre of the yolk. If you pressed your fork in it, the hardening yellow stuck to it like fudge.
Leaving the egg till last gave several windows of opportunity. The end of the world; the dog jumping on my lap and wolfing the offending item from my plate; or my father having a change of heart, taking pity on his poor struggling son and allowing him to get down from the table. There was also the possibility of my prayers being answered – the most usual one being that he might drop dead.
~ Nigel Slater, Toast – the story of a boy’s hunger
Nigel Slater’s book is a joy to read… his honesty, playfulness, way with words and absolute skill in capturing his own childhood without the jaded, enlightened eyes of adulthood are wonderful.