Fried egg on toast is one of my favourite breakfasts.

I have read that eating something high in protein – but relatively low fat - for breakfast will keep you going for longer than something low in protein.

This certainly is borne out by my experience, as when I have an egg on toast, or maybe sardines or mackerel (yes, I’m a savoury breakfast person) then I’ll be looking at my watch, wondering whether it’s lunch time, far later than if I have, say, tomatoes on toast.

The egg on toast experience is made that much richer when we have just taken delivery of six eggs from my friends Laura & David’s back garden hens.

There is a very definite difference between a fresh back garden egg and a supermarket free-range egg. Oh, and let’s not even go there, where the caged hens’ eggs are concerned.

Now, I like to think I've got the preparation and eating of one fried egg on two slices of toast, down to a fine art.

First, take your egg pan – non-stick and one just suitable for a solitary egg (some may call it a blini pan, but ignore them) and add a teaspoon of olive oil, then put it on a medium heat.

Having put two slices of bread in the toaster, get out your plate, a knife and fork and whichever smudge or butter you're going to be using on the toast.

Next, take an egg and crack it into the pan, which is now warmed up and ready - and leave it to cook. (You may even have time for a short sit down while you wait for the toast to cook).

Once the toast is cooked, butter it, cut it in half, then each half into three. Place them on the plate with one slice re-assembled and a half of the other slice on each side.

Move everything to the cooker, where you add freshly ground sea salt and pepper to the toast – before the egg. This is most important!

When your egg starts to shout (i.e. the hot air escapes from underneath the white), it is pretty much done. Tip onto the seasoned toast, and add a grind of salt & pepper to the egg.

The very definite advantage to this as a breakfast, is that it is easily consumed with one hand (assuming you have somewhere to put the plate and don’t need to hold it!). Perfect for breakfast at the computer.

So. Aside from the lovely eggs, I have a moment of great importance to recount. Cue drum roll.

I made a savoury pie. A pie that involved both top and bottom pastry and that was not only palatable, but jolly flipping nice to boot!

Yes, I know this doesn’t seem like a moment when flags should be hung out, nor bunting attached to the nearest lamp-post, but believe me – considering my attempts of yore (all of which were consigned to the dustbin), it is a moment of great pride and satisfaction to me.

After all, my role model is Ma Larkin of “The Darling Buds of May” and not to be able to cook a common or garden savoury pie, was a serious failing.

However, fuelled with hope by the success of the pastry for my Yorkshire Curd Tart (see last blog post) I sallied on forth and made double the amount, but left out the sugar.

I have to say – at this juncture – just how much I love Rachel Allen’s approach to pastry in that she always rolls her pastry out between two sheets of cling film.

This method has changed the way I think about pastry, as coupled with the use of a food processor, I can make and roll the stuff out without ending up wearing more flour than went into the pastry in the first place.

Plus, the clearing up is minimal. I bow to thee, Rachel Allen.

I part-baked the lower layer of pastry, as I wasn’t too sure whether it would cook well with a saucy filling.

For the filling, I have to admit – shame on me! – that I cheated. Yes, well, before you start readying the pillory, let me say that I was concentrating on the pastry being superb, rather than distracting myself with the filling.

I began by sweating off a finely chopped shallot and a clove of garlic, and once they were transparent, added the diced chicken (it was a chicken & sweetcorn pie, by the way).

I cooked the chicken until it was gaining a little golden colour, then added *gasp* a tin of Campbell’s condensed chicken & white wine soup.

I let that down with a few tablespoons of milk, added the niblets from a corn cob which I’d cooked earlier, added a little seasoning – and it was done.

Baked in the oven for some 35-40 minutes, it was a triumph.

There you are, you see? I TOLD my husband that I could make pastry!

Which is just as well, because someone has put a mince & onion pie on the menu list for this week ….