Fried Eggs Over Medium

Making my fried egg over medium, moments before attempting the Aunt Rose flip without a spatula.

After leaving my childhood home in the San Francisco Bay Area, I embarked on a slightly nomadic lifestyle, mostly visiting aging relatives I hadn’t seen in a while. Each morning, in every new place, with a gentle, early morning knock on my door came the same question, “How do you like your eggs?”

First stop, Los Angeles, and my 78-year-old aunt, Rose. She makes rye toast for both of us, but asks me if I’d like to make my own eggs. I notice this is very often the scenario, it’s part of a fried egg protocol, each to their own (unless there’s a shared frittata or big scramble on the breakfast horizon). Aunt Rose mentions that she likes her eggs the same way I do, ‘fried over medium.’ She makes hers first and they come out perfectly. The whites are solid, no browned butter, they don’t stick, no broken yokes, flips beautifully. “How did she do that?” For as long as I’ve liked my eggs over medium, I’ve never been able to make them perfectly in my own kitchen. They’re too cooked, not cooked enough, too rubbery, too runny, they stick, they break, too much butter, not enough. Rose’s eggs are perfect, museum quality. I realized that I had been going about it wrong for years, slightly alternating the same technique tirelessly with melancholy results, time and time again. It was time to learn from a pro.

Aunt Rose is delighted to teach me. Pan on low. Butter in, let it heat slightly. Room temperature eggs go in. Immediately cover (this is the breakthrough step for me). Cook until white is hard, yolks still jiggly. Uncover. Flip them (Rose can do it without a spatula, I’m still learning, the hard way). Finish cooking, uncovered. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Everyone I know likes their eggs cooked a specific way. For me, it is one of the ultimate intimacies, up there on the list with how they take their tea, or what they don’t want on their sandwich (I don’t like tomatoes on my sandwich unless it’s a tomato sandwich, and people who know me well remember that). I find immense comfort in knowing the small details that make up the broader picture, and often use them as a meter of how well I know someone, and how well they know me.