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On a Sunday morning, in a small London flat, a strange sight could be seen in the kitchen. A pair of blokes, barefoot, one blond and one dark-haired, were leaning over a pot of water on the hob.
“Should we wait until it boils?” the blond asked, scratching his head, hair still messy and unruly from sleep.
“Shh, be quiet, you’ll wake Bri up!” the other bloke replied.
“You sure, Fred? He had quite a lot to drink last night.”
“Well, so did I, Rog, but you managed to wake me up when you went to the loo and he’s still...”
“Shh!” Roger shushed him demonstratively before he could finish, a cheeky grin on his face.
“Don’t you ‘shh’ me, I shh-ed you first!” Freddie pouted.
Roger looked at him, unimpressed. “Hang on, how many eggs do we have left?”
After a thorough inspection of their fridge, a total of five eggs were lined up carefully on the counter.
“We should probably make some coffee first,” Roger suggested, stifling a yawn.
“You sure? Coffee on an empty stomach, after all those beers…” Freddie tutted, “not a good idea.”
Roger agreed with a nod. “Right. Eggs first.”
After they had another look at the simmering water in the pot, everything was ready for the eggs to be cooked.
Except…
“Wait, do we need to salt the water first?” Freddie piped up.
“How should I know?” Roger shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Wait, are you saying you don’t know how to boil an egg? Then why suggest it in the first place?”
“Dunno, figured you know how. I know how to scramble ’em, but you didn’t like that idea.”
“Because your scrambled eggs are terrible!”
“Well they are still better than your non-existent ones!” Roger stuck his tongue out at his roommate.
After rolling his eyes and sighing heavily, Freddie glanced at the pot again with a raised brow and an egg in his hand.
“I’m adding salt,” he announced resolutely.
“Why?”
“Why not? You need to salt the water for pasta, potatoes too, isn’t that right? You don’t want flavourless eggs. I’m gonna add salt.”
“So you know about pasta and potatoes,” Roger noted suspiciously, “but you’re not sure how to boil an egg.”
“Well, there are so many ways to make eggs, I can’t know everything, dear! Boiling, scrambling, sunny side up…umm, egg salad…”
“Egg salad is made from boiled eggs.”
“Oh so now you are the chef extraordinaire? Go right ahead then, the eggs are all yours.”
“Oh no, I’m not touching those. I thought you had some idea as to what we’re doing, but apparently…”
“I do have some idea, darling, I'm just not quite sure about this one small detail!”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Freddie nodded decisively. “I very much know what I’m doing.”
“Then tell me,” Roger spoke up, with a challenging tone, “how long should you boil an egg for?”
The silence that followed was only interrupted by the cooing of a pigeon somewhere outside.
“Five minutes.” Freddie finally answered, his voice cocky.
“Well, I think I heard somewhere that it should be fifteen…”
“Er… fifteen. Is what I meant to say. Yeah. Fifteen minutes.”
“Ha!” came a victorious cheer from Roger. “So, you don’t actually have any idea what you’re doing, do you, Fred?”
Rubbing his neck, Freddie lowered his eyes towards the floor and uttered a begrudging 'no'.
“That’s it, I’m making scrambled eggs,” Roger decided, already in search of a frying pan.
“No, Rog, pleeease, not the scrambled eggs. I really am starving and your cooking is just… atrocious, I’m sorry.” With an apologetic smile, Freddie slowly closed the cupboard that Roger had just opened.
“Well, I’d rather eat my atrocious eggs than your undercooked ones.”
“Well, I won’t be eating them at all, then!”
“Good, more for me!”
“Alright then, enjoy your abominable eggs!”
The silence that fell between the two blokes, standing in front of each other with pouts on their faces and their arms crossed, apparently spoke volumes about Roger’s cooking skills, as the eggs in question stayed untouched even after a decision had been made. Freddie raised an expectant eyebrow at Roger, who glanced at the eggs reluctantly. Narrowing his eyes, Freddie barely supressed a chuckle as the corners of Roger’s mouth started to twitch.
As if on cue, the two of them burst into giggles, shushing each other (ineffectively) as their laughs grew louder.
“You don’t,” Freddie wheezed, “you don’t even want to eat your… your own eggs!”
“Alright, alright, I’m not really keen on them either,” Roger admitted, supressing his giggles. “Now,” he sighed, trying to contain his laughter, “what should we do about… this?” He nodded towards the pot of gently simmering water.
Freddie pondered for a second, then his face lit up. “I know! Let’s crack the egg into the pot and we'll be able to see how long it takes to cook!”
“Fred, that’s genius!”
“I know, darling,” he smiled smugly, “I only wish I’d come up with it sooner because I am absolutely ravenous now.”
“Well, let’s get on with it, then!”
As Freddie took the egg and looked around the counter to see what the easiest way to crack it might be, Roger grabbed a wooden spoon and started stirring the water vigorously.
“What the hell are you doing, Rog?”
“Well I don’t want the egg to… stick to the pot or something.”
“Fair enough,” Freddie gave up on questioning Roger’s methods, knowing that his own probably weren’t much better. “Wanna crack the egg?”
“Sure thing.”
Without giving it another thought, Roger bumped the egg on the edge of the pot once, twice, then carefully cracked it into the little whirlpool of water. In a matter of seconds, his expression changed from curious, to amazed, then disgusted.
“Eww, what the hell is going on? This doesn’t look good at all!”
“Well, it’s still cooking, perhaps… no, nevermind, that looks absolutely atrocious. I’m not eating that.”
“Fred, this was your idea, remember? And we’re not in a position to throw out food. You’re eating this… goo.” Roger’s voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he snorted.
“Darling, I’d rather starve than eat your egg goo, you can have it all to yourself!”
“Well I don’t want it!”
Their bickering was interrupted when a tall guy with a shock of messy curls appeared at the kitchen door.
“Good morning,” he said, suppressing a yawn, “what have you two been up to?”
“Did we wake you up, Bri? Sorry about that,” Freddie apologised with a smile. “We were making breakfast. Well, at least trying to, but then Roger…”
“Roger what?” The blond quirked a brow. “Roger listened to what Freddie said and we ended up with egg goo instead of a boiled egg.”
“Sorry,” Brian muttered, “you made what?”
“Come and see,” Roger offered with a sigh.
After a closer inspection of the pot, Brian grinned at his two friends. “Well, if you two don’t like poached eggs then I’ll gladly eat this. Though it beats me how you made this when you obviously have no clue what you made.”
Freddie’s brows shot up. “Sorry, dear, did you say poached egg?”
“Yeah, and a really decent one by the looks of it.” Brian nodded, amused at the confusion on his friends’ faces. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have some breakfast. Thanks!”