Montauk, part three: breakfast.

My friend Stacey is my Food Wife. She has impeccable taste, serious cred, and a remarkable ability to throw a ridiculous cocktail party at a moment's notice. She volunteered to make breakfast the morning we spent in Montauk, and that turned out to be a really, really good idea.

She made an incredible batch of slow-scrambled eggs with cheddar and chives. She cooked up some Black Forest bacon from the venerable Schaller & Weber. Best of all? She made some of the most delicious biscuits I have ever had. Light, fluffy, tender. Pretty much perfect.

That's why I food-married her.

Celebrating.

I honored the first local blueberries of the season by eating them with strawberries and topping the whole thing with some whipped cream (spiked with dark brown sugar). "Gobbled" is the word that comes to mind when I think of what happened next.

A patriotic breakfast.

Greek yogurt with strawberry-rhubarb compote and fresh berries. Happy Memorial Day!

Greenery.

It's that wonderful time of year, when asparagus season overlaps with ramp season, and all is right with the world.

This weekend, I made a variation on this sauteed asparagus dish - I subbed in ramps for the shallots (added the sliced bulbs at the beginning, and the sliced tops along with the chives at the end). I also happened to have some pea shoots, so I spooned the whole lot down on a bed of those. Extra grassy green flavor, FTW!

Spicing it up.

Way back when,  one of the very first recipes posted on this blog was for bucatini all'amatriciana. Yes, I've long been a fan of this sauce, made with tomatoes, red onion, bacon and crushed red pepper. Can you blame me? Because it's pretty freaking awesome.

A few weeks ago, while perusing my Pinterest stream, I spied something truly amazing: baked eggs all'amatriciana. And I realized that I'd been missing an incredible opportunity for many, many years. After all, I love eggs - especially when run under the broiler to set the whites and leave the yolks all runny and delicious - and I really, really love bacon, tomatoes, red onion and crushed red pepper.

And so, when I grabbed some local-but-not-yet-seasonal tomatoes at the Greenmarket this weekend, I supplemented them with a few teeny red onions and made my way home to make what I suspected would be one of the best lunches I'd had in quite some time. Spoiler alert: I wasn't wrong.

Turns out these eggs are not only delicious, they're brunch-worthy. They're the food equivalent of a Bloody Mary, minus the booze: spicy, rich, bursting with umami, and loaded with hangover busting powers. And since you can make the sauce the day before, they're perfect for those mornings you know you'll need a little something extra to get moving.

If you're feeling especially sluggish, I recommend extra red pepper.

Baked Eggs All'Amatriciana

1 slice bacon, cut into batons
1/2 small red onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, sliced crosswise
3 plum tomatoes, cut into 1-inch pieces
Kosher salt, to taste
Crushed red pepper flakes, to taste
2 eggs
Parmesan cheese, finely grated, to taste

Heat a saucepan over high heat. When quite hot, add the bacon and immediately turn the heat to medium. Cook until the bacon is crisp and most of the fat is rendered, stirring occasionally. Using a slotted spoon, remove the bacon to a plate, and pour off all but a very thin coating of the fat.

Return the pan to the heat and add the onion. Cook for a few minutes, until softened and just turning translucent. Add the garlic and cook for a minute or two more, then add the tomatoes and season with salt. Cook for three to five minutes, stirring constantly, until the tomatoes have melted and the sauce is becoming watery.

Add the bacon back in, along with a half teaspoon or so of red pepper flakes. Reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook, covered, for ten minutes or so, until the tomatoes have well and truly released their juices.

Remove the lid and allow the sauce to cook 10-15 minutes longer, until the sauce has thickened. Taste for seasoning (it should have a decent kick).

(Everything up to this point can be done up to a day before serving; let the sauce come to room temperature, cover it tightly, and stick it in the fridge. Warm it back up before moving to the next step.)

Turn on the broiler. While it warms up, spread the sauce over the bottom of a large ramekin (I use my 16 ounce models). Crack two eggs on top of the sauce, being careful not to break the yolks. Sprinkle with the cheese.

Place the dish under the broiler for about 5 minutes, until the egg whites are set and firm, and the cheese is browned.

Remove the ramekin to a plate (to protect your table from the heat), sprinkle with a touch of salt and a bit more red pepper, and dig in. 

Serves one as a main course.

A breakfast. Or two.

My last two mornings in Austin were, as always, bittersweet. There's something about those last couple of days of vacation that shock you into doing really wonderful things (long walks along Town Lake with the dogs, grabbing breakfast tacos with your best friend, lounging by the pool with a cocktail) instead of messing about with shopping or doing anything that requires you to adhere to a schedule.

The last two days of this trip were particularly so, because Louisa introduced me to a seriously amazing thing: breakfast at the Elizabeth Street Café.

Elizabeth Street is a French Vietnamese restaurant and boulangerie, and they serve three meals a day, seven days a week - not to mention coffee and pastries to go at any hour. It's a delightfully airy space, all black and white tile on the floor, calming white on the walls, and pops of teal in the banquette and chairs. Saigon and Paris mix in the space as well as in the food: cane chairs, burnished metalwork edging the communal table and a giant fern bring Vietnam, while white-painted wrought iron and black-and-white striped Louis XVI chairs bring the France.

The coffee - I chose French press both mornings - is fantastic. I was unsurprised to discover it was Stumptown, and couldn't help but enjoy upwards of three cups per visit. So sue me.

And then, of course, there's the food. You can order a pastry (Nick loved his almond croissant) or a French crepe, but I went savory and Vietnamese both mornings, figuring it was the best way to use my limited visits. My first choice: Saigon noodles with peppers, roast pork and fried eggs. The noodles were short, skinny and full of delicious curried flavor. The roast pork was rich and tender, with a wonderful balance of sweet and savory. The eggs were just runny enough to sauce things up, especially when I added a dollop of hoisin and a squirt of fish sauce. And man alive, were they spicy.

That first morning, we gathered up a few pastries to try later, at home. I snagged a butter croissant, a Nutella éclair, and a canelé. I really enjoyed the croissant, which was flaky enough to be authentic, but not so flaky that ended up wearing it. The butter was sweet, the pastry was tender, and the whole thing was just about perfect smeared with some strawberry jam.

The éclair was good, but not great. The filling was straight-up Nutella, so it was an incredibly rich treat, and I loved the hazelnuts on top. But the pastry was a bit gummy - possibly my fault for letting it sit for a few hours before enjoying it.

The canelé, while awfully pretty, was disappointing. It was undercooked, with a not-crunchy-enough exterior and a too-gummy interior. The vanilla flavor was nice, though, and canelés are super tricky to make, so these could definitely improve with time.

All canelé-related sins were forgiven the next morning, though, when we returned for breakfast number two. I ordered the sticky rice with poached eggs and ginger pork sausage. This bowl of perfect goodness arrived, topped with a tarragon and parsley salad. The eggs were perfectly poached, and their yolks mixed with the hot sauce on top of the rice to make a rich, tangy sauce. The pork sausage patties were spicy in both senses - gingery and hot. An ideal bite included a little of everything, and was, truly, perfect.

So, you know: go to there.

Elizabeth Street Café
1501 South First Street
Austin, Texas

Going granola.

I've become a bit obsessed of late with a certain dish. There's no pork fat involved, not a brussels sprout in sight. No, this is an obsession of a different kind. I have become enamored of Peels' granola. It's a heady mix of oats and seeds, served up with dried fruit and the thickest, most delicious yogurt in existence.

Don't believe me? That's my giant spoon, standing straight up in the yogurt. It's so good that I had to go back twice when I was off from work between Christmas and New Year's.

Get thee to Peels. Get thee this granola. Repeat.

Now that's what I call breakfast.

Prune's butter-crumbed eggs with stewed chickpeas might just be the best breakfast I've had since my birthday migas in Austin. The crunchy coating on the runny egg adds a dash of textural contrast to the largely soft meal, and the preserved lemon on top of the Moroccan-spiced chickpeas is just...magic.

And if you're not veggie, you simply must have a side of the lamb sausage. No ifs, ands or buts allowed. No, sirree.

On hand.

Sometimes I think there's nothing in the house for breakfast, and then I remember that I have eggs, scallions, a tomato and half an avocado. What's better than that?

Answer: the Sriracha I squirted all over it after I snapped this photo.

Spicing it up.

I've always really wanted to love pumpkin bread. In theory, it should be an easy thing for me to do. I'm a big fan of the pound cake/quick bread genre, and I really love pumpkin-spiked baked goods, particularly scones and pie. It should be an easy sell. But, in my experience, most recipes for pumpkin bread result in overly-sweet, overly-oily, cloying messes of a loaf.

This year, I decided to take charge of the pumpkin loaf. No longer would I be a slave to such sub-par use of one of nature's most delicious ingredients. It was time for a revolution.

As a starting point, I used this recipe from Bon Appétit. I'd tried it before, and been pleased with the texture, but disappointed in the flavor. It was too sweet and not nearly spicy enough. After all, what is the point of baking with pumpkin if you're not going to exercise a moderately heavy hand with the ginger, cloves and cinnamon? What is autumn if not an excuse to clear out the spice cabinet?

And so I got to work. Out went one of the three cups of sugar, and, for good measure, I swapped one of the remaining two for half a cup each of dark and light brown sugar. After all, pumpkin and molasses (the "brown" in brown sugar) play pretty well together. In went extra cinnamon and cloves, freshly grated nutmeg stood in for the powdered stuff, and ginger was added to the mix.

The result is a pumpkin loaf that - I think - successfully bridges the gap between pumpkin bread and gingerbread. It's spicy and just a bit sweet, moist and fragrant. It made my apartment smell heavenly for days, and if you make it in these adorable little mini loaf pans, it just might be the best host or hostess gift the holiday season ever saw. Except for a bottle of bourbon.

Spiced Pumpkin Bread
Adapted from Bon Appétit

Butter for greasing the pans
3 cups all purpose flour, plus a bit for flouring the pans
2 tsp. ground cloves
3 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1 tsp. ginger
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1 cup canola oil
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
3 large eggs
1 16-ounce can of pure, pureed pumpkin
1 tsp. vanilla

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter and flour two standard, 9x5x3 inch size (or four mini) loaf pans. If using mini loaf pans, place them on a cookie sheet.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, spices, baking soda and baking powder. Stir the salt in with a fork. In another large bowl, mix together the sugars and oils, then add the eggs, pumpkin and vanilla. If you have any lumps from the brown sugars, use a large whisk to help dissolve them into the mixture.

Add the flour mixture to the wet ingredients in two additions, mixing well with a spatula or wooden spoon after each. Divide the batter evenly between the pans, then place in the oven and bake until a tester inserted into the cakes comes out clean - about an hour for mini loaves, and 70 minutes for the larger loaves. I'd also recommend rotating the loaves about halfway through baking - spinning them front to back and switching baking racks, if you're using two.

Cool in the pans for about 30 minutes, then run a butter knife around the edges of the loaves. Invert onto a cooling rack to cool completely. Eat immediately or wrap tightly in plastic wrap and store at room temperature for up to four days.

Makes two standard loaves or four mini loaves.

Mixed feelings.

Nick, Louisa and I enjoyed a lovely breakfast at The Breslin last Friday. The coffee was stupendous, the baked eggs with tomato and chorizo simply glorious, and the service, frankly, lacking. At a restaurant of The Breslin's quality, I shouldn't have to wait ten minutes for sugar for my coffee.

But, man, what good coffee it is. Love you, Stumptown.

Best ever.

Best scrambled eggs of my life. Creamy, but not runny, and topped with duck sausage and chervil. BEST. EVER. Eaten this weekend at James in Prospect Heights, along with several cups of coffee, a few of Miya's fries, and a tangy green salad.

Yum.

This scone.

This, my friends, is a strawberry-rhubarb scone from the lovely and amazing Two Little Red Hens bakery.

While my neighborhood (Yorkville, part of Manhattan's Upper East Side) is still woefully lacking a great coffee place (Joe, won't you please open over here?), it does have some seriously good baked goods. For bread, you can hit Orwasher's. And for the sweet stuff, you can go fancy and high-falutin' at Lady M, or down-home and amazing with the Hens.

This scone is a perfect example of how they take rustic to the next level. Yes, it's a slightly misshapen, large, American-style scone. But it's made with the best ingredients, it's seasonal, and it's incredibly tender and delicious. Its top is lightly crusted with crunchy sugar, it's stuffed with rhubarb and berries, and its innards are all creamy and lush. It is marvelous.

Next time, we'll talk about the buttery glaze on their cinnamon rolls. Drool.

Honestly.

Hard as it may be to believe (snort), even I have kitchen mishaps. Sometimes they're disastrous, and sometimes they're minor. The one I had on the Saturday before Easter could be classified as the former. I actually found myself standing in my kitchen, throat on fire from a cold, cursing the author of a recipe. Loudly, colorfully and at great length.

What happened, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. I was making a ramp tart to go alongside my brother's Easter leg of lamb, and the crust betrayed me. I made it, let it rest for a full two hours, rolled it out between two pieces of plastic wrap, and placed it gently in the tart pan. And then, when it came out of the oven, it was cracked all along the bottom.

Idiot that I occasionally am, I figured this was all par for the course, and went ahead and poured in the custardy filling. Of course, this was a tart pan with a removable bottom, so the filling proceeded to spill all over the stove and counter as it leaked through those little cracks and out of the pan. OF COURSE.

After screaming, stomping and generally muttering as I cleaned up the mess, I decided to make a second crust. I couldn't face rolling the dough out again, so I decided my guests would have to deal with a pressed-in tart crust (and to use a pie plate for extra safety), something I've done before and plan to do again. It is so. Much. Easier.

And, frankly, the tart was still flaky and delicious, so I feel no guilt about it and have no qualms encouraging you all to do the same, lest you end up as I did, shaking your fist at the kitchen gods.

Oh, and, the tart? It's marvelous. Creamy and decadent, but small enough in stature to go down nice and easy. The stinky ramps call for a mild goat cheese, but if you don't have ramps where you are, sub in some chopped leeks and an aged cheese - that'll be pretty dang good, too.

Ramp Tart with Goat Cheese
Adapted from Bon Appétit

For the ramp filling:
1/4 cup unsalted butter
2 bunches ramps (about 1/2 pound), cleaned, trimmed and cut in half lengthwise
2 tbs. water
1/2 tsp. kosher salt

For the crust:
4 tbs. ice water
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 cup plus 1 tbs. chilled butter, cut into 1/2 inch pieces

For the custard:
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 large egg and 1 large egg yolk
1/4 tsp. salt
4 oz. mild goat cheese

Make the ramp filling:
In a small saucepan set over medium-low heat, melt the butter. Add the ramps and stir to coat in the butter. Stir in the water and salt, then cover the pot and reduce the heat to low. Cook until the ramps are very tender, about 25 minutes, stirring frequently. Set aside. (If you're doing this the day before, allow to cool, cover tightly, and refrigerate. Bring to room temperature before adding to the tart.)

Make the crust:
Place the flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the blade attachment. Pulse a few times to combine, then add the butter. Pulse a few times until a coarse meal develops. With the motor running, add two tablespoons of the ice water. Check to see how the dough is doing; if it's still a bit dry and not coming together, add the rest of the water.

Take the dough out and place it in a 9-inch glass or metal pie plate. Gently press the dough out and down with your hands or a flat-bottomed measuring cup, until it is evenly distributed and goes up (but not over) the edges of the pan. Place in the fridge for at least an hour. If you plan to leave the crust in overnight, cover tightly with plastic wrap first.

Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove the crust from the fridge and line with tinfoil, covering the entire crust (including up the edges). Fill with pie weights or dry, uncooked beans and bake until set and dry, about 30 minutes. Remove the pie weights and tinfoil and bake until golden, about 10 more minutes, depending on your oven's personality.

Make the custard and finish the tart:
In a medium bowl, combine the milk, cream, eggs and salt. Beat until light and well-combined. Dot half the cheese around the bottom of the warm tart shell. Arrange the ramp filling on top, then place the rest of the cheese on top of the ramps. Gently pour in the egg mixture.

Return the tart to the oven and bake until the center is set and puffy and the tart is golden in spots. You may need to cover the edges of the crust - one of these is super-handy, or you can make a make-shift one from tinfoil.

Serves 8 as a side, or 4 as a main course.

Always open.

I was raised for a healthy appreciation for restaurants that serve breakfast all day long. Diners have always been some of my more favorite places, especially when they rise above their giant menu and deliver a few true specialties. (Even if that just means they have seriously excellent coffee and fries.)

Austin, no doubt, has many of these kinds of diners. It is, after all, a city obsessed with both food and late night live music sessions, so there has to be somewhere to caffeinate and chow down after midnight. 24 Diner, the one I visited (twice) on this most recent trip isn't quite like the diners of my childhood (which featured neither local produce nor grass-fed beef), but it has something of the same ethos.

Witness their 24 Hash. It's made with potatoes, jalapenos (this is Texas, after all), sausage and bacon, and topped with two eggs cracked right onto the hash and cooked over-easy. It manages to be crispy and chewy at the same time, the dark edges of the potato segueing into bits of sausage brightened by the tiniest specks of pepper.

The egg is rich and a bit gooey, and I found that the whole thing benefited immensely from a healthy pour of Cholula. That bit of spice took the hash from rich and sinful to perfect - so perfect, in fact, that I ordered it on both visits. Don't judge.

Oh, by the way: they also have chicken and waffles, if that's how you roll. Cholula doesn't hurt here, either. Trust me.

An ode to migas.

 

Ah, migas. That incredible, undeniably amazing breakfast concoction made of eggs, tortilla strips, peppers, onion, cheese - and, at Magnolia Cafe in Austin - spicy garlic butter.

Oh, yes indeedy. I highly recommend you check it out as soon as possible. And, if you're not planning to be in Austin anytime soon, maybe you can give this devotee's recipe a try; I plan to try and recreate them myself sometime in the near future.

Sundays are for bacon.

 

Nothing says "Sunday morning" quite like the smell of bacon crisping in the pan.  This past Sunday, I decided I would forgo my usual breakfast (coffee and, well, coffee) for something real and hearty; something that could get me through my chores and carry me on well past lunchtime.

That something was an egg, avocado and bacon sandwich. It started innocently enough - people have been more atwitter than usual recently over the idea of avocado toast, and so that was my plan. Avocado mashed about a bit, spread on fresh baguette, topped with a smidge of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.

But then I remembered the eggs in my fridge - after all, they were just sitting there, hanging out, waiting to become the protein in some fabulous creation.  And the bacon! The bacon I bought last week in a fit of craving, and of which I've used on bits and pieces.  Both pair so well with one another and with the avocado - how could I leave them out of the party?

And so the sandwich evolved. From a mashed avocado on toast to a far taller, far naughtier creation.  Fresh baked baguette (courtesy of FreshDirect's parbaked goods section), still warm from the oven and spread with a bit of mayonnaise.  Next, a layer of sliced avocado, seasoned liberally with salt and freshly ground pepper.  Next, a slice or two of slab bacon, fried to just this side of crispy and topped with fluffy scrambled eggs.

Creamy, salty, fluffy, crispy deliciousness, all in one little sandwich.  Oh, happy Sunday.

Queenie's Treasury

Happy Sunday, my dears! It's pretty cold here in the northeastern United States, and we've been told to brace for - yet another - bad storm at mid-week. My one plea to the weather powers-that-be: please don't let the storm come between me and the Decemberists concert I'm supposed to go to on Wednesday. Mmmmkay?

First up this weekend, an adorable iPhone decal that makes your decidedly 21st century device look at little bit retro. Design*Sponge spotted this one, but, sadly, it seems to be sold out! If you're still craving an old fashioned camera aesthetic for your phone, check out this Leica version!

I seem to be in a somewhat analog mood this week, because I'm seriously into this alarm clock. I wish I could use one like this, but I've become somewhat addicted to my little clock radio with its multiple alarm settings and ability to switch between both WNYC stations with the touch of a button. All that said, how freaking adorable is this clock?

Last, something actually food-related. (Shocking, I know!) Have you seen the blissfully spare blog Simply Breakfast yet? If not, you must go visit. Jennifer Causey chronicles her daily life through lovely still life photographs of her breakfasts. One day she might enjoy a fried egg with spinach and a grapefruit on the side; another might bring a bagel with cream cheese and a tiny little cookie. There's something incredibly peaceful about these tableaux, and I highly recommend adding the blog to your daily reading.

Jam, jammy jam.

As I mentioned on Saturday, I won a giveaway from the House of Brinson last week: a single, perfect jar of homemade raspberry jam. Needless to say, I was eager to give it a go this weekend, ideally accompanied by coffee and buttered baguette.

It just so happened that I had a parbaked baguette in the freezer, and so Sunday morning I turned on the oven before hopping in the shower and got that baguette working in there the second I got out. About 15 minutes later, I was enjoying fresh bread spread with sweet butter and smeared with tart, jewel-colored jam.

And life, it was good. Yes, indeedy.

Meatless Week: Making peace with zucchini.

Zucchini gets something of a bad rap for being both rampant and slightly flavorless. Sometime in late summer, zucchini patches all across the country begin yielding unbelievable amounts of the stuff, resulting in a glut of zucchini bread, muffins and the like. Growing up, I was never much of a zucchini fan, mainly because it had a tendency to pop up on crudité trays, a bland traitor masquerading as the far more exciting cucumber.

As an adult, though, I've come around to zucchini and its summer squash compatriots. Its lack of assertive flavor - the very thing that put me off of it so many years ago - makes it the perfect canvas for a myriad of seasonings and preparations. I particularly enjoy it roasted. In a hot oven, zucchini turns sweet just slightly meaty in texture - a great foil for a light vinaigrette and some lightly stinky mascarpone.

The inspiration for these toasts comes from the fabulous whole foods blog Sprouted Kitchen. Sara flavors her zucchini with parsley and mint, and spreads the toast with ricotta - but since I have basil and thyme on hand, along with half a tub of mascarpone, I went in a slightly different direction. I also thought it would be good to dress the warm zucchini in a little lemon juice, the better to get the flavor deep into the fruit. I think it works. How about you?

Roasted Zucchini Toasts
Adapted from Sprouted Kitchen

1 lb. zucchini or summer squash, cut into 1/2 inch dice
Olive oil
2 tbs. finely chopped fresh herbs (I used a mix of thyme and basil)
2 tbs. finely chopped red onion
2 tsp. lemon juice
1/2 tsp. Dijon mustard
2 slices bread
1/4 cup mascarpone cheese
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place a rack in the upper third of your oven and preheat it to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

In a large bowl, toss the zucchini with just enough olive oil to coat it (a teaspoon or so should do it), along with a pinch each of salt and pepper. (Save the bowl; you'll use it again.) Spread the zucchini evenly onto a cookie sheet. Place in the preheated oven and roast for 20-25 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes or so, until the zucchini is well-browned and roasted through.

Place the zucchini back in the large bowl. Using a fork, stir the lemon juice and mustard together in a small bowl, then add to the zucchini. Add 2/3 of the herbs and 2/3 of the onion, along with a bit more salt and pepper. Toss everything to combine evenly. Allow this mixture to sit while you toast your bread.

Toast the bread to your desired doneness. Spread each piece of toast with half of the mascarpone cheese, then top with half the zucchini mixture. Sprinkle with the remaining herbs and onions. Serve immediately.

Makes two pieces of toast.