One of the quiet comforts in my kitchen is what I grew up calling bread in egg. It’s a dish so deeply woven into my daily life that I sometimes forget it’s worth writing about—because it feels like something that’s always been there. My mother made it. I make it. And now, my daughter loves it too.
This recipe doesn’t ask for much—just a few slices of older bread and an egg or two. But the result is warm, filling, and deeply satisfying. It’s one of those honest meals that doesn’t pretend to be anything fancy. It just does what it needs to do: make use of what you have, and feed you well.
These days, I like to whisk a pinch of salt and a little splash of milk into the eggs before dipping the bread. It softens the texture and gives the final result a tender richness that we love. I fry the slices in a bit of oil or butter until they’re golden brown, crisp on the edges and soft in the middle.
This morning, I made it again. I had some leftover country bread, just stiff enough to be perfect for soaking up egg. And of course, I made tea to go with it.
The tea wasn’t a planned blend—it never is. Just a mix of whatever I could find in the kitchen cupboard: some dried oregano (which always finds its way in), a handful of linden, and a few petals of primrose from earlier in the season. I steeped it all in my French press, which I use only for tea. The herbal scent filled the kitchen while the bread sizzled gently in the pan.
There’s no rush when you’re eating bread in egg. It’s a slow kind of meal, best enjoyed when the day hasn’t quite started or when you’re letting it gently wind down. It’s also a small celebration of not wasting food—of finding pleasure in something simple and slightly forgotten.
How I make it:
- A few slices of older bread, firm but not too dry
- 1–2 eggs
- A splash of milk
- A pinch of salt
- A bit of oil or butter for the pan
Beat the eggs with salt and milk. Dip the bread slices in the mixture until coated well. Fry on medium heat until golden on both sides. Serve warm, with your favorite herbal tea and a moment of quiet.
It’s not fancy. But it’s real. And that’s enough.
Leave a Reply