50 Women Game-Changers in Food - #50 - Julie Powell - Poached Eggs

Poached Eggs:  They're not just for breakfast anymore.   Alyce's  Poached Egg Chef's Salad

If you saw the movie "Julie and Julia," you'll know Julie Powell didn't like eggs.  While working her way through Julia Child's Mastering The Art of French Cooking, Volume I in one year, Julie one day had to wake up and smell the eggs.  Yuck.  Something she never cooked.  But eggs were on the list and eggs are what she finally did fix.  And liked.  Who knew?

"Egg Salad" or Ah Gotta Code in mah Noz and TIME

Egg Salad #2

 Living in a new place can do a lot of things to you.  You might retreat into comfortable behaviors and forms of communication. You might call your old friends every day. (Or you might want to.) You might surround  yourself with things that you know.  You might cook meals that are soft and warm.  Or not.  You might just take this opportunity to start anew.  I've done it all a bit.  For one, I've made chicken and noodles or chicken noodle soup three times in the last week, attempting to get a perfect recipe for a one hour meal.  I posted the first attempt here, but I continue.  The most recent (with boneless, skinless chicken thighs) is on examiner, for which I just included a link.   I've also made new and perfectly crisp AND soft  salads, replete with poached eggs.  Textures, textures.

Egg Salad #1--in examiner article

Newest attempt....Truly done in under an hour.  Way under if you use the food processor.

Being in St. Paul is a joyous venture and adventure.   Every day is something new, but that might be because it's spring.  The icebergs have almost melted unless you live on the south side of the street!  The yard is waking up day by day.  Nothing's in bloom (crocus blooms at the neighbors), but the bulbs are peeking their little heads up.

I couldn't wait and bought these at the market.

 The birds, as I told our realtor, are nuts.   The previous owners fed them, and I'm continuing the insane practice.  Soon I know I'll have thousands of little Jack Sparrows, Woody Woodpeckers, and "My Little Chickadees" flying around my kitchen windows.  I know this because I see the little biddies chomping around with bits of twigs and grass in their mouths.  I know what's happening out there.  I have two jays who pop in, grab peanuts and depart making noises a little like Groucho Marx.  They are not sociable like the sparrows, who argue and kibitz at the trough all day long like old men in the coffee shop.  Not flighty like the chickadees who are easily scared off. (Boo!)  Not jealous like the male cardinal, who, until yesterday, wouldn't share the feeder with anyone--not even his wife.  Yesterday, I did see him sharing and wanted to give him a little "high five."