Dry out the bowl, which will now be lovely and warm, and tip in the egg yolks and lemon juice. Allow it to sit for a minute, then tip the water into the small saucepan and bring it back to the boil.
Up to 125g butter, very soft and cut into 0.5cm cubesįreshly ground black pepper and flaky sea saltġ Fill your heatproof bowl with steaming hot water from the kettle. So, in so many ways, Little Fires Everywhere was the perfect book – an exploration of family, social class and suburbia. It’s been on my mind a lot in the past months, this return ‘home’ – I worry it may no longer feel familiar. I left Brisbane for the anonymity and opportunity of London four years ago: this week, I return for the first time. While the world feels very American, a lot in it feels familiar to me: a idyllic tree-lined suburbia where there’s very little to do, and everyone seems to know everyone else. I read Little Fires Everywhere over Christmas. The sauce will be rich and velvety, as if nothing had happened, and you won’t end up tipping anything down the sink. The most reassuring thing I ever learnt is that if you split the sauce (it will look grainy and separated, rather than thick, if you do), you need only to start again with a new egg yolk – add your “ruined” sauce in place of butter until you have incorporated it all. A second pair of hands (someone to add the butter on my nod) during early attempts was useful too, but you may be less nervous than I was. Firstly, I’ve always struggled to make a small batch – a single egg yolk almost invariably ends up splitting on me. If you’ve struggled with it, or avoided it for fear of wasting half a block of butter and your time first thing in the morning, I have some tips. Photograph: Kate Young of The Little Library Café
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