@glitterbag,
I lived with my grandmother when I was in my mid-twenties and she was in her late seventies. I got a job nearby to which I could walk, which meant no car fare, and thought everything was OK. But almost immediately, my grandmother began to sulk. Mystified, I finally asked her what was wrong. She told me nothing was wrong, that everything was
fine. When she said
fine, I knew there was real trouble. It finally came out that she resented that I did not walk home for my lunch every day, and that I was "squandering" my money in some cheap greasy spoon somewhere. So, I agreed to walk home for my lunch every day. She insisted that I call to let her know I was coming--so she could put the food on the table hot when I came in the door. Her share of the peace treaty was to make my lunch every day around poached eggs. A lot of people can't do poached eggs very well, but when it came to plain cooking, she did everything very, very well. She was born in 1899, and grew up believing that the man goes out and earns the money (men worked ten hours a day, six days a week in those days), and the woman stays home to cook, clean and do the laundry. She was married in 1919, almost 60 years earlier, so plain cooking she could do in her sleep. (Ironically, she and my grandfather met while volunteering in the 1919 flu pandemic.)
I love poached eggs, and can't do them worth diddly.