Poached eggs were one of my Grandma in Cincinnati's favorites. She had the cutest little pan to prepare the delicacy perfect every time. I'd often enjoyed the treat for breakfast when I stayed over night with her. I particularly loved how she'd serve it, on Italian bread with a teaspoon of virgin olive oil drizzled over the top. In the summer, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice would stand close by, in the winter a half grapefruit that I'd pile with sugar. After we'd finish breakfast she'd warm milk and add about a 1/4 cup coffee to flavor the milk. I'd add a teaspoon of sugar to the milk-coffee mixture. We'd sit together chatting for a time, generally about cooking, sewing and the rumble of the trains as they passed next to her house.
The Little Poacher
When we moved my parents from their house in 2014, I found my little poacher pot. As you can see it had been well worn. I believe I asked my mother to buy it for me as I wanted to make poached eggs at home like my grandmother made for me when I visited. I am so tickled to be reaquainted with my memorable pot. This past week I paired my poached egg for the first time with a slice of raisin-walnut bread and a cappuccino. A wonderful mixture of delicious memories.