The salted duck egg’s veneer of pale blue gleams in the early morning sun, like a river-smoothed rock a curious child might find along the bank. Heavy with promise, its heft rests solidly in my left hand.
Rolling it over the glass table forms a spiderweb of cracks that makes it easy to peel along its oblong end; a careful poke at the tender egg white with a chopstick yields treasure.
The glistening golden oil of a salted duck yolk shines against its dull white counterpart.
Truly, edible gold. Salty, rich, sweet, pungent. The blue-shelled eggs are always the best—that’s what my grandmother told me—because they’re guaranteed to be full of deliciously-rich duck yolk.
Good for filling red bean mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Good for drying and sprinkling over steamed egg.
Good for bringing you back to your childhood memories of sitting cross-legged at your grandparents’ dining table on a humid, humid day with a duck egg in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and a bowl of chilled plain congee in front of you.
Priceless.
