I am the champion of breakfasts. I eat breakfast six, seven, sometimes eight times a week. Sometimes I'm slaving away in the kitchen on a real masterpiece of my own creation. Most of the time, though, I eat out.
Look, I'm not ashamed of myself. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I treat it like a queen! Every place I go to breakfast thinks they are my favorite breakfast spot. They see me once a week or so, they think "hey, that guy's a regular. He comes in here. Regularly." Well that's all true, but what they don't realize is the degree to which I'm spreading that action around. I'm a big-time breakfast slut. Always on the prowl for a plate of hot, steamy breakfast.
Each place I go, I have my fave order. At the Silver Spur it's the blueberry pancakes (made out of pure justice - "The Best In The Territory" says the menu, and the menu don't lie!) and a side of crisp bacon. At Zack's, it's the corned beef hash with 3 poached eggs (I've gone on and on about that one already elsewhere) accompanied by a hunk of their hellified jalapeno cornbread. At the Walnut - shrimp and tomato benedict, baby! That dish is more fresh, tangy and delicious than getting shot in the face hurts. At Beach Street, it's the guacamole omelette - always with their signature orange muffin. So good, after every single bite I almost have to slap the counter and say, "Mah MAN!" I said almost. At the ocean street McDonald's, it's the McFluffy-Puck sandwich - every damn time, and a side of Hash-Puck to go with. At Old Mountain Inn, what else but the green onion and mushroom scramble? They make they's home fries so crispy.
Why am I telling you this.
Listen. I don't want to see any of you people storming all my favorite spots, buying up and eating all my top dishes, making me wait on a list, crowding me out! This post is not a public service. I'm not trying to clue you in, I'm just trying to show you up and strut my stuff...as The Champion Of Breakfasts.
2 comments:
Many people long to hear those three precious words. For me, they are: All Day Breakfast.
I was driving North through upstate New York with my brother one time, making for the Canadian border. We reached Dobertsville. Don't bother looking for it. It's not on any map. We walked into the diner starved, and there on the wall was a bold sign: "ON SUNDAYS, WE SERVE BREAKFAST ONLY."
That was all we needed to see to sell us on the place. Clearly it was the proverbial bonafide. We each ordered several breakfasts.
We ate, paid, and left. But not a day goes by when I don't wish I could find my way back there somehow. Perhaps not consciously.
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