Breakfast Evolution Part II

Coffee, tea, and G.

G and I have so many memories surrounding breakfast.  

In our early dating years, we spent time in Ann Arbor, New York, and Niagara-on-the-Lake in Ontario, Canada.  

I remember a breakfast date at an Ann Arbor restaurant called The Broken Egg.  The wait was so long we christened it The Broken Clock.  We never went back.

All of G’s family lives across the entire state of New York.  After rounds of family visits, we’d sit in Ithaca for a few days of couple time.  We always went to Collegetown Diner to start our days in the Finger Lakes.  We’d get inches tall bagel sandwiches laden with with egg, bacon, and cheese to fortify ourselves for our wine tasting tours.

In Niagara-on-the-Lake, we’d stay at a cozy bed and breakfast.  Our hosts provided us with coffee, homemade muffins, and steel cut oatmeal with cream and berries every morning.  We’d warm ourselves from the inside out before that day’s Ice Wine Festival festivities.  On one of those trips, G proposed!

G was the one who finally made my dream of going to France come true.  He’d had job assignments overseas before meeting me. He lived and worked in Cologne, Germany, London, and Melbourne, Australia.  I’d never been anywhere outside the U.S. but Canada and the Bahamas.  He took me to Paris and then we drove through the Loire Valley visiting castles.  At Chambord, we actually stayed at one!  This was the view from our window.

Our first morning there we ordered what they called their French breakfast.  I remember seeing the server leave the kitchen carrying a huge tray filled with food and beverages and china.  I assumed she was going to stop at three tables.  No, she just stopped at ours and gave us everything on the tray!  I think she was there for five minutes just placing everything from that tray onto our table: pitcher of cream; bowl of sugar cubes; carafes of water and juice; coffee cups and saucers; plates of butter and croissants; a platter of fruit; baguettes; and a French press of coffee.  

G and I bought a house in Ann Arbor and settled there for a while.  Our favorite place to eat was Zingerman’s Roadhouse.  If you visit the site, it says est. 2003, the same as me and G! The Roadhouse served brunch on the weekends.  G and I would drive over on a Sunday and get two seats at the counter to watch the cooks make all the delicious dishes. Sometimes we’d treat ourselves to donuts with our coffees while we waited for the main event, Benedicts or huevos rancheros or grits and eggs.

We started hosting holiday brunches at our house.  Mom lived an hour north of us so she would drive down for Christmas brunch and presents.  By that time I’d started culinary school, so I’d use my newfound skills on the crowd.  I poached eggs, made unbroken Hollandaise sauce and used challah for French toast instead of old fashioned white bread. Sometimes, G’s parents would come from Syracuse and join us.  At Easter, we’d include ham (Mom’s favorite thing ever) and the first asparagus of spring.

Fall in Michigan was the best time of year.  College football Saturdays, of course the leaves turning a million colors, and the cider mills would open.  Mom and I made a tradition of meeting at our favorite cider mill on chilly fall mornings where we’d sit and sip hot cider and share cinnamon cider donuts.  It was heaven.  We never had many traditions while I was growing up.  Everyone was working their full-time jobs and also working at my grandparents’ cottages.  Our time in Michigan together gave us the chance to finally have some.  After our cider donuts, we’d stroll through the pumpkin patch and pick out pumpkins to take home for our porches and for jack o’lanterns. 

Around this time, Mom started spending winters in Naples, Florida.  I was lucky enough to be able to sneak down there in January or February each year and get a break from the woeful Michigan winters.  Mom would still cook up a pound of bacon for breakfast.  We’d make eggs and toast.  We’d eat perfect Florida grapefruit every morning.  This is when my love for a lanai started to bloom.  On one of those trips, G joined me and and we visited Key West for the first time.  It was the first of many trips there.  More traditions!  We discovered Glazed donuts and Red Buoy coffee.  In the mid-day heat, we’d grab iced Cuban coffees and take a break to browse at the bookstore (owned by Judy Blume!)

Remember my aversion to anything but scrambled eggs? Not anymore. During our travels I didn’t meet an egg I didn’t like. The poached egg on top of an arugula salad for our honeymoon breakfast in Healdsburg, CA.  (You have to eat arugula in California.  It’s a law.)  My first soft-boiled egg in Provence.   A Scotch egg in Louisville.  How far I’d come with that humble egg!

When we flew to San Francisco to look for a place to live, we found Plow in the Potrero Hill section of the city.  Essentially it was an upscale diner with a counter and maybe fifteen-twenty tables. Because the place was so small, we diners would stand outside while we waited for a seat.  Mornings were almost always a little chilly so G and I would stand there admiring that view and sip from steaming mugs of coffee, grateful for the chance to live in one of our favorite cities on Earth.

Most of the time we sat at the counter again when our name was called.  We loved a view of the kitchen. We would share a dish of pillowy, lemon ricotta pancakes, a fried egg sandwich with frisee and aioli, and Plow potatoes, smashed with lots of rosemary and thyme.

G traveled a lot for work.  I became his plus one as much as possible.  I loved it!  I saw San Francisco, Boston, Cambridge, Martha’s Vineyard, and Orlando.  He took me to New Orleans for the first time and introduced me to beignets at Cafe du Monde and chicory coffee. Sigh.

For several years, Gregg attended business conferences in Las Vegas.  I hardly saw the guy he was so busy morning, noon, and night.  We went there so much I had regular routines during our visits. The first morning in town I’d get up and head to Bouchon for what I knew was going to be a delicious breakfast.

The last time we went to Vegas I had the best moment at Bouchon.  I was just sipping my coffee and perusing the menu when I did a double take at the hostess stand.  Alton Brown sighting!  He was seated on the other side of the restaurant.  I was so geeked!  I took my time ordering, sipping my coffee, savoring each bite.  I ate my breakfast as slowly as possible so I could time my exit with his.  I met him and approached him as we left the restaurant.  He could not have been lovelier.  He even let me take a photo.  Bouchon breakfast and Alton Brown?  Talk about luck.  Who needs the roulette table?

When we lived in Chicago, I’d take the bus to Randolph Street to get my hair done.  I’d make a beeline to Intelligentsia for a mocha to warm me up while I walked to the salon.  Afterwards, I’d stop at Stan’s Donuts and arrive home with treats for G. His face just lit up when I walked through the door. For me or the donuts? Not sure.

The last few years saw us move many times.  Not a lot of traction to settle in and find new traditions so we’ve tucked in and made our breakfast favorites at home, no matter where we’ve landed.  G has made sure that I have my own lanai for morning coffee moments.

My current fave weekday breakfast? Whole wheat toast with greens, an egg, and hot sauce. I cook up batches of garlicky greens on Sunday to dip into during the week.

But no matter the breakfast behavior during the week, I always look forward to a full breakfast or brunch on the weekends, just like Mom did.

Thanks again for reading! I care about you. Please don’t forget to eat your greens.