"Soul Food"

 My mother wore a Lanz nightgown that winter.  Flannel with red and blue sprigs and a cotton lace yolk.  Her hair was wispy from the summer course of chemotherapy and her energy seemed to ebb away progressively each day.  Her gait was now unsteady and she’d sway a bit in the yellow light of her house tucked into the hillside at the top of Hemlock Road.  Her cancer was back after a short few months and I had returned to snow packed Hanover, New Hampshire to take care of her as she died.

I had come with harbingers of spring:  herbs and baby greens, wrapped lovingly in damp paper towels in the hopes of feeding her back to life and staving off what I had hoped was not inevitable.  I saw right away my folly.  My mother was not going to get better this time. 

For the first several mornings she requested bread case eggs and would eat a few bites.  Sometimes she wanted a tuna fish sandwich or a couple of Oreos.  And Diet Pepsi.  She loved Diet Pepsi.  Funny, the things that she chose to eat in those days before she decided to die. 

My husband, Tadaaki, calls it “soul food,” and he doesn’t mean fried chicken and collard greens.   You know, the childhood food that leaves you feeling deeply warm and comforted.  I suppose that’s what most people call “comfort food.”  When I was stuck in bed for 5 weeks during my first pregnancy, I asked my husband to make me bread case eggs.  I hadn’t eaten them since that winter of ’88 before coming to Japan.  But I called them “box eggs” to keep it simple for my Japanese farmer husband (whose English was not that great at the time).  He made them for me a few times and then I was done.  But now, box eggs are my oldest son Christopher’s “soul food.”  And he requests them often. 

 The thing about food, though, it’s not static.  So the box eggs I make now and the ones my mother made in the 60’s are just not the same.  Box eggs rely on good bakery pain de mie.  My mother never used puffy white bread, but she did buy at the Oroweat day-old bread store or the Pink Pastry Shop, so Acme, it wasn’t.  And although she got her eggs at the Co-op, I’m sure they were white eggs from a battery farm.  I buy my bread from an artisan baker.  The flour he uses tastes like something and the bread doesn’t lie flat and lifeless in my mouth (like some bread).  My eggs are from our free-range egg farm, so you know they’ve got to be fresh, creamy and astoundingly delicious.  Just to let you know, I’ve never tasted a better egg.  The butter is from Hokkaido and unsalted.  (I like to add my own.)

I crank my temperamental Viking up to 350˚F, hope it fires and set to work on the box eggs.  And each time I embark on preparing these well-loved eggs for my sons, I can feel my mother by my side calling her cat, "Isabelle the Oreo thief", or shaking a tin bowl of food as she beckons the raccoons lurking behind nearby trees into the circle of light emanating from the porch lamp at her front door.  And although my sons never got a chance to know their grandmother, I always feel I am giving them a small piece of her through her favorite foods:  tuna fish sandwiches, bread case eggs and Oreos.  Though I draw the line at Diet Pepsi.

Slice off the crusts of a square pain de mie with a long razor-sharp knife (don’t even think about using a serrated one).  Cut the bread into 3-inch thick boxes.  Leaving a decent 1/2–inch border, cut a square about halfway into the top of the breadbox.  Gently coax out the bread center, leaving an open box shape.  If you pull a hole out of the bottom, patch it well with some of the pulled bread.  Brush all sides with melted butter, not saturating but not sparingly.  Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and break in an egg (or two).  Try to match the egg size with the cavity size.  Sprinkle on a little more sea salt and some fresh ground Tellicherry pepper.  Pour a nice dollop of thick cream over the yolk and smooth it around the yolk with your finger (this will help keep your yolk protected from drying out).  Bake for 15 minutes.  The whites should be just about set and the yolk still smoothly orange (not withered).

Pick up the box egg and eat with your hands.  The first bite will yield a crunchy, slightly buttery toasted, yet soft mixture of bread and jiggly whites.  Soon you will get to the luscious yolk and if you have baked it just right, the yolk will break and maybe even dribble onto your hand.  As you lick your fingers and sink your teeth in one more time for another bite, you will feel deep contentment.  And this will be your “soul food” as well.

 

Comments

[Rodney Fong]

For some reason, I had been thinking of a form of your bread case egg. My mother made a more simple form with old white bread and store bought eggs. She would punch the hole out of the middle and pan fry the bread in butter, then cracking the egg in the middle of it. Tony Haney called them "bulls-eyes", when we talked about comfort food at Stanford. In those days, we couldn't get farm fresh eggs, as they were not commercially available then as they are now. Same as bread. We were very limited growing up in Hawaii as far as meats, eggs and poultry. Most were all shipped in from the mainland.

Your story about your mother reminded me of Staci's mom, and her last months with us, as she struggled with her bout with cancer. I wanted so badly to cook the dishes she loved. I felt bad that she could only eat a few mouthfuls of things she loved, like spaghetti, oxtail soup, fresh coconut or avacado. But that was all she could do. It is then that the term "comfort food" so fittingly applies. Wonderful writing again, Nance.

[Mora Chartrand-Grant]

It's good to have "soul food" and not just the comfort it brings. I especially appreciate the memories. Like you, I took care of my mother after she was diagnosed with vascular dementia. The sad part about her dementia is that it affected her ability to cook and eventually her taste. Some of those last meals were truly horrible, yet they were made with love. But prior to her dementia, she was an amazing home cook whose talents, thankfully, came over to me by way of DNA...her entire maternal side were terrific cooks...and lovingly showing me how to cook without recipes. My egg equivalent story was when she would make soft boiled eggs, lop off the top without shattering the shell into tiny bits, and serve it with buttered toast strips to dip into the yolk. Boy, were those great.

[Nancy Merrick]

This installment really resonates. My own children have been all about "box eggs" of late, and think how much they'll love them when their mother finally does the right thing and substitutes farmers market eggs for store-bought. Your blog helps remind me that my food laziness needs attention. My family thanks you! The photos, your mother's story -- very important.

[Naimah]

This recipe sounds delicious and simple. I think the best foods often are!

Naimah
CoolBlackChef.co.uk

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Rodney: Wow, I never imagined that food was shipped or flown in to Hawaii from the mainland. I often check Tadaaki's mother's food intake to make sure it hasn't slipped. Once one loses that, I think it is very hard to recapture. But cancer is a whole different thing. There is no combatting the loss of appetite. Knock on wood. Last reunion, I heard from Simone Cox that Tony Haney was in a play nearby, but we never got him over to the mini-reunion. I used to run into him sometimes on the train. I make bull's eyes sometimes, but I like the box eggs because there is more bread.

Mora: I love that egg idea of your mother's. I've never had the confidence to lop off the egg top, but will give it a go. How many minutes did she boil the egg? By the way, I met someone in Berkeley who knows Gabe from Le Pigeon... and also you. Her name is Chris and she was talking about Sundance Film festival. I'll track down who she was and email you.

Nancy: So wonderful to see you in person a few weeks ago. As for food laziness, maybe all you need is a little food "forethought." I tend to plan ahead (as you may have noticed).

Naimah: I absolutely agree. Simple (but good) is best.

[Mora Chartrand-Grant]

Hi, Nancy. I'm sorry to say I don't recall how long my mother soft-boiled the egg. Looks like we're both back to trial and error. HB eggs I have down pat. I put the eggs from the refrigerator into a pot of cold water, cover the pot, and bring it a boil. As soon as it comes to a boil, I turn off the heat and start the timer for 7 minutes. This process never fails to yield a perfect HB egg. I look forward to more about Chris. Thanks so much.