sunday breakfast

What, don’t you want to know about last Sunday’s breakfast five days later?

Of course you do. Sillies.

In all honesty, I’ve been trying for days – DAYS – to find the right words to describe just how satisfying Sunday’s breakfast was. How exciting it was. How gratifying, especially since I had been asking for it for months. Everything about it was luxurious – and the clean up was a dream.

Enough with the build up.


I had soft-boiled eggs. In a cup.

Seriously. That was it. Soft-boiled eggs.

Okay, not seriously, there was more than that. Also in this white ceramic mug, nestled into the bottom, an equal player in all things breakfasty was a wad of butter. Rich, glorious, churned-with-love, Irish butter. Real butter, yes you can believe it’s true.

It’s very important, in this situation, that the egg be immediately chopped and smashed with a fork so as not to cook within itself and to allow the butter to seamlessly melt throughout. So, if you’re a finnicky food photographer, this might not be the dish for you. As for me, well, I admit my moments do come now and again, but not in this case. I smashed these eggs within an inch of their life and just when they couldn’t tap out any louder, I smothered them in the soft curls of microplaned parmesan cheese. Some might want to spread these eggs on a crispy piece of hot toast. I just wanted to spoon it up with a child-sized spoon because the funny thing about eggs is they always seem to disappear too quickly.

Layla, meanwhile, halved her egg and decided to dunk the pieces in a mound of parmesan. Evidence #932 she is, indeed, my cousin.


When she proved she couldn’t wait for a photo to be taken and decided to photobomb her own breakfast, well – that’s #933. All that aside, have you checked out the color of the yoke? How it’s still a bit wet? THAT, my friends, is one hell of a gorgeous soft boiled egg. 6 minutes in a bath of boiling water, no more, no less.

Have I mentioned how much I love All Good Things yet? I do. I love them hard. This TriBeCa based food market brought me Blue Bottle Coffee, a butcher, cheeses, chanterelles, Orwasher bread and pastries… oh, and the occasional two dozen shucked West Coast oysters, to go. I mean, we’re not talking La Boqueria level market, but it’s still pretty special. On most Sundays, I like to walk over and pick up a cappuccino, a few chocolate croissants and, if I’m feeling particularly gluttonous, I’ll walk over to Dickson’s Farmstand Meats, get a half-pound of medium cut bacon and throw it into the oven so it comes out looking like this –


And then, maybe, I’ll even put a piece or two on toast with avocado. I love the creamy buttery goodness of avocado on toast, and when I add a slice of crispy smoked bacon, all hell breaks loose on my tongue.


Have any of you tried this? It’s a guaranteed party in your mouth.

Hey, I know it’s Friday and this post is a few days late, but I hope, in some small way, this might boost the morale of your Sunday mornings.

Stay warm out there.

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