A soft boiled egg and soldiers–which are finger-sized sticks of buttered, salted toast–is the first food I remember eating as a child. It was, and still is, simple, sensuous joy, something to do with the satiny ooze of yolk on the crisp, crumby bread.

I learned in adolescence that civilized children elsewhere ate their eggs in the shell with the top clipped off, and dipped the soldiers in one by one. My mother scooped the eggs out of their shells into a bowl and let me mash the soldiers in with a spoon until the whole thing was sticky, yellow glop, and I turned out fine. Your choice. Surely there’s a balance.
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