I feel awful. I love America. I’ve been there a few times. They are the friendliest, kindest and nicest people I’ve ever met. But I feel awful because I have to have a pop at America, here. They do not know how to fry an egg. Their egg frying policy is a joke. They have so many variations! I remember sitting in a café in New York with my dad, and we were handed the breakfast menu. Everything on it was a type of steak. And they all came with fried eggs. We spent a long time trying to work out which one was ‘normal’. So if you are an American, you work in a café and you see a confused British tourist, they’re probably trying to figure out the fried egg menu…
This isn’t my preference for a fried egg, you must understand. There’s only one type of fried egg in Britain. Crack an egg over a pan. Splash some oil on it. Leave it alone for five minutes. Put it on a plate. But in America? Easy over, easy under, easy come, easy go, little high, little low – sorry, that’s a Queen song. The best equivalent they have to the only fried egg we eat in Britain is ‘sunny side up’. But they don’t taste like our fried eggs. The Americans rarely splash oil on it, and they have this terrible habit of covering the pan, which ruins the taste. Honestly, readers, they’re insane!
And it gets worse, too. They sometimes add water – WATER! Yes, British readers, water! I mean, what? Eh? Who? Huh? And sometimes, oh, this is a hoot, they flip the egg over! Flip it right over! Why! Who cares! You’ll ruin the fudging yoke! And it gets worse…
Over well. Cooked on both sides until the yoke is hard-boiled. Because, apparently, nobody over there has ever heard of a boiled egg in an egg cup that you dip your soldiers in to. Over hard. Similar, but involves deliberately breaking the yoke. God, it’s a fried egg massacre. Over medium. Again, similar, but the yoke is slightly liquid. That’s just being pernickety. Over easy, over light, over twenty other variations. You know what, America, many British people spend a great deal of money coming to your fine country. So can you do us the courtesy of adding ‘normal’ to your fried egg menus? It’s not a lot to ask, really.
And don’t tell me to order a ‘full English’ or visit an English café. The American version of a full English is disgusting and the English cafés are stuck using American ingredients. Oh, God, don’t get me started on American ingredients. Their milk is rancid. I have a theory that it’s because I’m used to drinking British milk, from your ordinary, miserable, wet and cold British cows. But American milk comes from happy and warm cows. That’s gotta make a difference, right? Oh, and really don’t get me started on Australian milk. Oh gee, I don’t even think one can call that nightmare milk…
How do I like my fried eggs? In Britain, there is only one type. One. No variations. Nice and simple. That’s what a fried egg should be. A nice chunky yoke you can dip in whatever you’re eating, surrounded by that sumptuous white bit. And believe me, in Britain, we dip everything in our yokes. Bread, toast, pork chops, chips, burgers, sausages, bacon, sausages wrapped in bacon… you name it, we dip it. We even have them in sandwiches. The only filling between two pieces of bread. A fried egg is a champion, a staple of the British diet. When it comes to the fried egg, a proper Englishman will tell you there is only one type. One that trumps any silly variations:
The humble all British fried egg. Every day of the week…
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