A Simple Breakfast

13 September 2010

Breakfast at Tiffany's is great . . . up until she tells you that you remind her of her father.

The terrible truth is that I will never be a great chef.  I won’t open restaurants, I won’t have Frank Bruni faun over my food, and I won’t have the enviable burden of Michelin stars.  I haven’t put my name and money on the line and had to back it up with my cooking.  I haven’t given heart and soul to the betterment of our culinary history.  I haven’t done any of that.  But, what is more important, what is pertinent, is that neither have  you.  We’re all in this together.  We all cook.  It is what we do to make ourselves, and those around us, feel good.  I’m okay with the fact that I’m never going to be a great chef, because I know that what I make makes others happy.  I’m comfy with it.  We should all be comfy with it.  After all, we’re still cooks.  We cook because we love.  I’ll still endeavor to create great dishes, take pleasure in fresh ingredients, attempt to better myself as a cook, and try to put my bad part in pretty girls.  That’s what we can do as cooks.  But, luckily for us there are those who have gone to great lengths  to manifest their souls on a plate.  Those who have – perhaps not literally, but surely figuratively – put their lives on the line.  So, who are we, mere cooks, to ignore these culinary giants?  Sometimes, we need to go the pros.  To those who are preternaturally better at this thing than anyone else.  Which is why, for breakfast, you need to speak with my buddy, Jacques Pepin.

If you don’t have Jacques’ book, “The Apprentice,” you need to get that shit, immediately.  Jacques, as you can tell by his name, is Mexican.  Just kidding, he’s French.  It’s the best autobiography of a chef I’ve ever read, mostly because I could read it while sounding out the words in a French accent, in my head.  Also, he imparts, as all good chefs should, the recipes he’s learned.  One of those recipes happens to be the best breakfast recipe of all time.  There’s no bacon or sausage or morning sex in it, but holy balls is it good.

Put it In

Salt and Pepper

Doins’ a Transpirin’

Hard boil some eggs.  Split ’em in twain, and remove the yolks.  Take the yolks and put them in a bowl with chopped garlic, parsley, a splash of milk, and the ol’ salt and pepper.  Mash the mixture up, and divide it into the hollows of the egg whites.  Heat some oil in a pan, and put your eggs – stuffed side down – on the heat.  Cook for two or three minutes, and you’re good.

Sure, it doesn’t have the heft of an English fry-up, and there ain’t a lot of nitrates, but it’s basically deviled eggs for breakfast, and I hate you if that isn’t up your alley.  Now, go make some Oeufs Jeannette;  kiss the Swedish supermodel you brought home, last night; and let the gods delight in you culinary mastery.  Because, after all, we’re cooks, aren’t we?

A cute hipster-chick wearing a beret isn't necessary for this recipe, but it is advisable.