Neverheardofem you say? Well neither had I. That is until Dan and I went on our yearly adventure to the Great Minnesota Get Together. Instead of eating the same old food on a stick every year, we thought we’d try something else on a stick. So I planned ahead and perused the various food vendors on the fairs website. Low and behold I come across the scotch egg. A hard boiled egg wrapped in sausage, breaded and deep fried? Whoa. That sounds like something that shouldn’t be consumed but had to be eaten.
With visions of dancing eggs in our heads, Dan and I head towards St. Paul, parked, walked, ate, and walked some more but where in the world is this stinking scotch egg booth? We walked and walked until we couldn’t walk any longer. Disillusioned, irritable and hungry, we bowed our heads in utter failure. What kinda of adventurers are we? Can’t find a needle in a haystack because anyone knows that the Minnesota State Fair is vast, endless and it’s own kind of Bermuda Triangle. Walk to one corner and realize it wasn’t quite where you wanted to be, change your course and soon enough you swear to god you’re at the same darn corner you just left. Pronto pups on your left, fresh lemonade to your right and a whole gaggle of crazed children surrounded by drunken parents stumbling over each other. And still no Scotch eggs. Confounded fair! Information booth here we come. I’ll never ever forget, and you won’t either, here it comes, the scotch eggs are by the Horse barn and no where else. Every other god forsaken food item is sold on every street corner. But not the scotch eggs. Drooling and famished, Dan and I get in line behind the other 600 fair goers waiting for the delectable edible egg. Minutes upon minutes are endured until finally, we’re handed the cardboard tray of goodness and directed to a vast array of sauces and dips to pair with our meal. Oh my god, my brain wasting away from the search can barely contemplate the decision. Without any thought at all, I pumped some horseradish into my tray and delved into this “thing” on a stick. The one thing I haven’t quite mastered is how exactly to eat said thing on a stick? Standing in a crowd, no table, no fork, I don’t want to take a giant bite of it, causing an avalanche of scotch egg to inevitably drop to the vast abyss of the fair ground, wasting valuable morsels of sausage encased egg. But what choice do I have? And then all of a sudden the thing is gone. We just spent hours to find it and in a matter of seconds it’s resting at the bottom of my once aching stomach. I’m full, satisfied and stunned. What just happened? I think back and remember brief flashes of flavor coupled with savory flecks and meaty tidbits. Tangy yet creamy fragments, substantial and filling. It was good. I’m pretty sure of it. Intriguing and different.
Months pass, winter arrives, my social life fades and I’m left bored out of my mind. What else can I do but come up with creative ways to eat? What shall it be this time? I’ve already tackled the mountain of glory and other such delacacies. There has to be something new I can try. And suddenly visions of sausage, greasy crusts and eggy centers flash before my eyes. The Scotch Egg! Can it be done in the comfort of my own tiny kitchen? If there’s a will, there’s always a way. Googling the Scotch Egg, I came to find there’s quite a history involved. It seems there is some discrepancy as to where the egg got it’s roots. Some say the Scotch Egg was first invented in the middle ages as a quick and easy food Scottish Farmers could wrap in napkins and take to the field for lunch. Then again, the London department store Fortnum & Mason claim to have invented it in 1738. Somehow I believe both instances to be accurate in some way or another. Wherever their origins lie, I’m going to take it upon myself to ensure the tradition is kept alive.
Dan is excited by the idea and we both prep for the endeavor. Our eggs have been boiled and cooled. I carefully peel the shells from the eggs. (On a side note, did you know that it’s best to use old eggs for hard boiling? Apparently the fresh eggs are harder to peel.) Bowls of breadcrumbs, whisked egg, flour and bread crumbs are arranged. Fresh quality ground sausage is pressed into oval shapes. And the process begins. I wrap the sausage around the eggs and pass them to Dan who rolls them in the flour, egg and then bread crumbs. They’re placed in an oven safe pan and baked at 400° for 30 minutes. The excitement is clear. Dan says we should let them cool. I say, “No way Jose” and snatch one up. I’ve mixed together a little standard ranch dressing with horseradish for a sauce and slice into the egg. It looks beautiful. I slice many more small pieces so I can savor every tiny bit. And it’s amazing. Just as good as the deep fried versions at the fair. Maybe even better.
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