Tea in Bed and Toast Soldiers

When I read Victorian and pre-WW II fiction, or watch Upstairs, Downstairs, or Merchant/ Ivory sorts of movies, I am struck by the way the comfortably off characters move un-self-consciously through their lives, attended by servants, apparently entirely untroubled that other people are witnessing their most intense and personal moments.

I would be so embarrassed; I could not bear to have a bunch of disinterested semi-strangers hanging around in my house all the time, regardless of the convenience. Even with out the inevitable guilt which would come with being waited on, I could never feel truly relaxed. Clearly not to-the-manor-born, me. And yet now, living alone, with no one to trade at-home indulgences with me, I can imagine two pleasures which would almost be worth the attendant awfulness of having live-in help, with or without a frilly cap- tea in bed and a nice boiled egg.

From the moment my mother was able to clutch a mug in her baby fingers, until my father was hospitalized during his final illness, she had a cup of tea brought to her in bed virtually every morning of her life. When she was growing up, her brothers made morning tea for her, and for her sister and my grandmother. They fixed it before they went to work, woke their womenfolk gently, and set it on the tables by their beds.

My father took over from there, and I, too, was the lucky beneficiary of this tradition, growing up. When I went off to college, it was cold turkey on the tea...and Bill, a seriously heavy sleeper, never took to the practice. (Though he did wash the dishes every day of his too short life, something my father only took up on retirement.) But it is wonderful thing, waking up to a cup of tea in the morning, and I commend it to you, if you can arrange it for yourself.

Another treat which is so much better when someone else fixes it for you, is the boiled egg, mostly because timing is such a major factor. I should perhaps explain that I have a bit of a thing about eggs. I think they are gorgeous, and am particularly inamoured of the multi-hued eggs of auracana fowl, seen here in a photo swiped from google, taken by someone called "Thornius the bird man", who posts on a gardening forum. Also, I love duck eggs, quail eggs, and am willing to try any unendangered species bird egg on offer. Indeed, my fantasies of a perfect existence involve my own chickens (and possibly a dairy goat). These fantasies are destined to be unfulfilled, since I am a confirmed urban dweller, and live in an apartment. (Actually, I haven't entirely given up on the chickens...I've been reading about some urban chickens of late. But I'd definitely need to have a place with a yard, and very tolerant neighbors.)

If I could be sitting at at table, sipping some very hot coffee and reading my newspaper when my perfect 4 minute egg arrived, I would be so very grateful. It would be neatly topped, and accompanied by a stack of buttered toast "soldiers"* for dipping, and a small pile of mixed salt and pepper to stick to the runny yolk once my toast, or small egg spoon, has been dipped. Perfect moment, that. Sure, I can and do fix one for myself, from time to time, but it is far less luxurious, and something usually is not as hot as one would wish.

Soft boiled egg service generally only happens to a person who has a mother, or other doting relative on hand. When we were small, my little brother was encouraged to eat his egg all up, because when he did, the egg would be turned around in its cup, and the penciled "sad" face would be replaced by the "happy" egg she drew on the other side. Unlike me, he had an iffy appetite.

Prior to the appearance of this little interloper, I was taken, a toddler, to visit my mother's English family. They still had two chickens in a shed in the garden then, from the days of rationing and food coupons for chicken feed. I was allowed to go fetch my own breakfast egg every morning, and quickly became attached to this ritual. One day I came back with my egg, looking dismayed and weepy. Questioned, I was sure that the chickens must be sick; the eggs were cold! It turned out that when my Auntie Louie had gone out to check earlier, no egg had been laid. As she didn't want me to be disappointed, she'd planted a couple from the fridge.

Neither of these most excellent treats is in any way costly, but the personal element can be tricky to arrange. More precious than rubies, eh? I suppose having live-in servants makes affluent adults feel a bit like doted-upon children?

* It seems that toast "soldiers" is an English term, I've heard "toast fingers" here. Buttered strips of toast are the perfect accessory for "dippy eggs". Some guy in the UK has designed a stamp thing, specifically for the creation of perfect toast soldiers. A hoot, no? I think you stamp the bread prior to toasting, and then break or cut along the dotted line. Not surprisingly perhaps, these are unavailable in the US. I was sufficiently intrigued to try ordering one from Amazon.co.uk. Although they are quite happy to send me books I can't find here, somewhat mysteriously they find themselves "unable" to ship me a small plastic device.

Comments

[Rocquie]

A lovely post. Thank you, and Happy Mothers Day.

[Lynn D.]

While I love the idea of a soft-boiled egg, I always finding eating it a bit of a disaster. First it's hard to tell exactly when it's cooked to my liking, then I burn my fingers on the hot shell, and then some of the shell inevitably drops into the egg. Is there some trick to it that I don't know? A few years back, I did learn the secret of perfect poached eggs which seems to solve all those problems for me. A perfectly poached egg with a bit of butter and lemon juice on an English muffin is a real luxury to me.

I am served coffee in bed every other morning and then I return the favor. However there are quite a few mornings where we debate/argue whose turn it is!

(Rocquie, I like your blog.)

[Nupur]

You make a good point. I grew up in middle class India- where "servants" (I hate that word and almost can't bring myself to say it) are the norm. I can't ever imagine having someone else come and work in my home- I value my privacy too much and can do my own dishes, thank you very much :)

[stefanie]

My brother-in-law brings my sister (and now their daughter) tea and a smoothie in bed every morning. I must make my own tea...Taylor's of Harrogate Yorkshire tea with honey and half and half...and it's a luxury I will never willingly give up. Sadly, I can't go out to a cafe for tea; one too many bad cups brought a whole new, very personal understanding of "it's not my cup of tea." The wrong cup of tea makes the whole world feel misaligned, affecting my mood like little else can.

[Lindy]

Thanks Rocquie- I like your blog, too.

Lynn- I do a boiled egg for 4 minutes on the nose, slipped into rapidly boiling water, which is then turned down to a healthy simmer. I have established that this is my personal perfect boiled egg. As for cutting off the top, I use one of those little egg guillotine thingies, with great good luck. However, I cannot make a proper poached egg. I resort to a pan with little compartments...cheating, and they are not as nice as real ones. What is your method?

Nupur- That is how I feel, too- but I do sometimes wish there was someone to wash up when I cook.

Stephanie-I drink lots of different teas during the day, but in the morning, I really don't like vary too much...a strong black Indian or Yunnan with whole milk is my choice. I've never been much for herbal, non-tea teas, but of late I have come to appreciate a nice cup of "bush tea" (rooboos) in the evening. No caffeine, but refreshing.

[Melynda]

I am glad you have returned! thanks. I keep coming to check, always pleased to see another entry.

[Jane]

You have such a lovely writing style. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this post. I disagree with your sentiments about being uncomfortable with servants around: I think I would be able to slide easily into that lifestyle, as to the manor born, as you say!

[Eileen]

Having just returned from a holiday in England, boiled eggs seem to be slipping repeatedly into our breakfast menu. The cunning porcelain toast receptacle in the photo intrigues me. I imagine it keeps the soliders warm and not soggy. Pray, where does one obtain such?

[Lindy]

Eileen- The porcelain thing is actually (I think) meant for french fry serving. It is made by the French company Revol, and they sell it lots of places, including Amazon.com. It is called the White Sachet", and it is from their "Recycled Collection."

[Lindy]

PS- I bought mine on sale! I also got a couple of the crumbled look "Recycled" white porcelain cups in the same bit of binge buying. I had been admiring them for some time, and was tickled to find them locally at a reduced (but still too high) cost.

[Toffeeapple]

Oh, how I agree with you! I always had my morning tea brought to me until my divorce and now I have to get up and do it my self. I did have a 'Teasmade' at one time but it's not the same. I'm going to make egg and soldiers now, you've made me hungry!

[r]

loved this post:)

[Teri Pittman]

Maybe some day you'll be able to try goose eggs. I really love having geese and the eggs are wonderful, with a clean, clear taste. They keep well too.

I am a lifelong tea drinker and I have just managed to convert my boyfriend with lapsang souchong. We have tea together every morning when we wake up. I make a full pot in a brown betty tea pot and serve it with honey and half and half. It's a wonderful time for just the two of us.

[Mimi]

Toast Soldiers! I didn't know they had a name! I remember back in Belgium when I was a little girl in the sixties.... We would have one or two soft-boiled eggs for breakfast. Alongside the egg(s) would be a plate with one or two pieces of toast which my grandmother would help me cut up into "soldiers". The short fat one on the end was always the general. The next one would be the colonel and the taller skinnier ones from the middle of the slice of bread would be the privates.

It's a wonderful memory! Thanks for bringing it back for me.

My grandmother, btw, was a WWI Belgian war orphan who spent several years in one of the Catholic Orphanages run by Irish nuns in England. She picked up a lot of the English culture while she was there.

Mimi in Texas

[BE]

When I was young, my father would make my evening cup of tea. It was something he & I shared because my mom & brother don't like hot tea. When I was sick, dad would make me a cup of hot tea. Nowadays, my sweetie makes me a cup of tea every morning before he leaves for work. It's wonderful. He also makes me a cup of tea every evening for dessert. In the afternoon, well, I am on my own! It always tastes better when he brews the tea!!

[EyJeniffer]

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