Tag Archives: breakfast

1001 Sweet. Potato. Biscuits.

If there’s one thing the South does well, it’s biscuits. There are many other things they do well as well – fried chicken, grits, greens, naming things Peachtree – but I’d like to talk about biscuits for a moment. Sweet potato biscuits to be precise.

Now if you’re like me and have spent most of your years above the Mason/Dixon line, you may be unaware of the fact that biscuits go with anything. You may also be unaware of the fact that you can make anything with sweet potatoes. And you would certainly be surprised to learn that putting sweet potatoes IN biscuits produces something so sweetly harmonious that you just might fall off your breakfast chair out of joy.

Well, that’s what happened to me this morning at Highland Bakery. OK, I might be exaggerating about the falling off the chair bit, but I certainly am not exaggerating when I say that once I bit into this crumbly biscuit, I very nearly lost all interest in the rest of my breakfast, including both bacon AND coffee.

I’d tell you about the rest of my meals from my first full day in Atlanta, but to be honest, nothing quite measured up. The opening keynote of the conference was interesting, and I liked walking through the Sweet Auburn District. It was fun to have dinner with Suz and Ken, though our actual dinner was a bit underwhelming. We parted ways late in the evening, and I wandered back to Dawn’s with visions of sweet potato biscuits dancing in my head.

Miles walked: 6.25

If you go:

Highland Bakery
655 Highland Ave NE
Atlanta, GA 30312
(404) 586-0772

A2 > SF

Where to begin!

We left Ann Arbor on the 1st in the middle of the afternoon, a flurry of bags and mopeds on the porch and cats wanting attention. Part of our trip was paid for with flight vouchers, so we had to fly through a Midwest hub – which meant that the much more convenient Detroit airport was out of the question. Instead we drove two hours to Grand Rapids, left our car with Shane’s moped acquaintance, and were ferried to the GR airport withOUT the much desired side-trip to Founders for Nemesis. Sorry, Shane.

Our flights – first a 20 minute hop to Milwaukee, then about four hours in the air to SF – were uneventful, and we enjoyed the free cookies, even though they were served cold. “Fresh baked”? Riiiight. Our second flight was operated by Frontier, each of whose planes bear an animal portrait. Get it, “bear”? Anyway, our animal co-pilot was Sarge, the bald eagle, who took good care of us and of Nancy Pelosi, our flight’s VIP.

We rolled into SF around 9pm local time, but by the time we claimed our luggage, took the airport shuttle to the BART, rode the BART to downtown, and walked a mile mostly uphill to our hostel, we were feeling every minute of the time difference and the long day. Our hostel – the Green Tortoise – was conveniently located near Chinatown and a bunch of sex shops, none of which were particularly interesting at that hour of the night. What was interesting was our private room, comfy bed, and sweet oblivion.

In the morning, refreshed by a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, we queued up for breakfast at Mama’s on Washington Square, just a few blocks’ walk from our hostel. Now, it’s not that I’m opposed to waiting in line for good food. I think there are times when this is a perfectly reasonable thing to do – like when you’re trying to get brunch in Chicago, for example. This might also explain why we rarely find ourselves getting brunch anymore – we wake up hungry, and the idea of standing in line for an hour when we’ve already delayed breakfast by an hour or two is just unbearable. We were subsequently told that the line at Mama’s can take more than an hour, but since it was 8:30 on a Thursday, our wait was between 20-30 minutes.

Who in their right mind waits in a 20-30 minute line for breakfast at 8:30 on a Thursday? Tourists, that’s who. And every dang person in the line was a tourist, replete with guidebooks and maps and loud conversations about Cleveland. As tourists ourselves, we had little room to talk, but I think the line strengthened our resolve to seek out neighborhood places, not ones in the guidebooks. Once inside, we ordered our breakfasts – a French toast sampler for Shane and a tomato and prosciutto Benedict for me – then settled down for coffee and people-watching.

I look somewhat stricken in this photo, but really I’m just hungry and undercaffeinated. Breakfast fixed all of that promptly:

Oh beautiful pile of delicious savory things! The eggs were overdone and the prosciutto overly salty, but the hollandaise was mild and the slices of heirloom tomatoes helped to even it out. The breakfast potatoes were excellent. Shane was less satisfied with his breakfast – the French toast was dense and barely, well, French toasted – but between our two plates, we left full and happy.

If you go:

Green Tortoise Hostel
494 Broadway (Broadway and Kearny)
San Francisco, CA 94133
(415) 834-1000

Comfortable, clean, and free meals – breakfast every day, dinner three nights/week. Bring your own towel or pay $1 to borrow one. We paid around $65/night for a single room with a shared bathroom, which is absolutely cheap by SF hotel standards.

Mama’s on Washington Square
1701 Stockton Street (Stockton and Filbert)
San Francisco, CA 94133-2914
(415) 362-6421

Go early, or go prepared to stand in line for 30-90 minutes. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

0808 Breakfast at the Lithuanian Club

We joined my parents at the Lithuanian Club for a fundraising breakfast for a memorial for veterans of the Korean War – a good cause, but a pretty lousy breakfast. Pop referred to the biscuits and gravy by their military name: shit on a shingle. I enjoyed my fruit cocktail in a tiny styrofoam cup, and Shane was astonished to see that not only was beer available at the bar at 8am, but there were a number of beers being consumed at said hour. Pop often gets tickets to these sorts of events from his patients – sometimes they’re good, sometimes not, but they’re always interesting!

There are a variety of reasons that I find places like the Lithuanian Club so fascinating. Social clubs of this sort inhabit an entirely different part of the world that that with which I’m familiar. I have no one ethnicity or homeland on which I pride myself – my family tree is a jumble of Germans, with a few Dutch, Irish, and English thrown in for good measure, but they’ve all been here at least a century. We were transplants, landing in Rockford when my parents were 30, with two kids and another on the way, and with Pop in the early days of his medical career. We settled in a part of town that was full of cul-de-sacs and two car garages, where sidewalks were optional and most moms stayed at home. We interacted with the kids and families from our neighborhood, our school, and our church. Those were our third places.

I wonder what will happen to places like the Lithuanian Club in the next few decades. The median age at breakfast was easily 70 – my parents, at 57, were among the younger in the room. My parents’ generation had the PTA and other school organizations, fitness clubs and rec sports leagues, and frequently two workplaces’ worth of potential colleagues and friends. And if we want to meet like-minded individuals, there are a bajillion Facebook groups. So what of social clubs? Will they just cease to exist? Is it our responsibility to maintain them in the face of more efficient online alternatives?

0619 With the Family

To be honest, I don’t really remember much about breakfasts growing up. I know that my parents wouldn’t ever buy us sugar cereal, at least not when we were small, so if a box of Corn Pops came into the house, it was because one of us had bought it with our paper route or babysitting money. Sugar cereals were something we’d look forward to when staying with our grandparents, who would buy the little sampler packs in anticipation of our week-long visits in the summer.

I do remember eating sunny-side up eggs with Pop while he read the newspaper when I was very small, and Sunday trips to Stockholm Inn for Swedish pancakes after church – I didn’t like “Swedos”, and would get eggs or regular pancakes, while being able to eat a Super Stack was a point of pride for my brother. I remember Pop occasionally making pancakes with chocolate chips or blueberries, and I remember that we had pancake molds in the shape of a dinosaur and a bear. I remember making eggs when I was very young, cracking an egg into a ramekin, covering it with water and then plastic wrap, and climbing up on the counter so that I could reach the microwave.

As an adult, I’ve enjoyed having breakfast with my parents when I go home for a visit – I’m usually up early, and so can sit at the table and nurse a cup of coffee with them while they listen to the Sunday puzzle before the rest of the house wakes up. Breakfast this morning – in lieu of a Fathers’ Day brunch – was coffee, French toast made from Zingerman’s challah (not waffleized this time), and sausage links from our pig. It turns out that Mom really loves French toast but rarely had it when we were kids because none of us were huge fans – so I was glad to be able to make a breakfast that was a treat for everyone. Pop came in from walking the dog just in time for the first slices to come off the griddle, and Shane was just waking up as I put on the last slices. Despite being half-awake from last night’s drive, I think I managed a decent, if a bit almond-y, breakfast.

0522 Ode to Sam’s French Toast

There are many Champaign institutions for which we’ve found acceptable substitutes. OK, maybe not many. A few. Having Buzz down the street made up for the lack of Cafe Miels from Kopi. The fried stuff and beer at the Galaxy Hut more than made up for the loss of fried stuff and beer at the Esquire, though they’re totally different animals. But there’s no replacing this:

Sam’s French toast, originally uploaded by Tiger_Bee.

Sam’s French toast is the stuff of dreams. It’s basically the perfect diner breakfast. I know that by saying this, I’m risking losing some of my local food cred. But Sam’s French toast is amazing. And there’s no replacement.

You’d think that some other diner would be able to figure this stuff out. I mean, take a couple of slices of white bread – the more commercial and generic, the better. Dip them in pancake batter – probably batter made from a box mix that can be bought in bulk at GFS. Slap it on the griddle until it’s toasted golden, then top with cinnamon sugar and a small lake of imitation maple syrup.

You wouldn’t think it’d be that hard to duplicate. You probably also wouldn’t think it’d be so damned good that this weekend I tried to write a song about it to the tune of Julia. But seriously, guys, this is the best French toast on the planet.

0411 A Very Smitten Kitchen Breakfast

Who thinks it’s a good idea to plan a breakfast – not brunch, breakfast – that requires at least an hour in the kitchen, especially when that hour is 8am on a Sunday? Me, apparently.

See, the oven needed to preheat for an hour before the pita bread could go in, and the whole point of baking the pita this morning was to accompany the spicy Israeli tomato-egg dish that I saw on Smitten Kitchen on Friday, and making that dish might take most of that hour anyway, and besides, we had a full day of projects planned, so best to get an early start, right? Right?

Long story short: up at 8, an hour in a million degree kitchen, and the end result? Pitas that puffed up like happy little clouds:

I’m not sure if the magic lay in proofing in the refrigerator overnight, or sitting at room temperature in little rounds for 20 minutes, or being rolled out thin and then sitting for another 10 minutes, or misting with a bit of water before hitting the 475F oven – but there was some magic up in there. Delicious, delicious magic.

So delicious that we barely let the pitas cool before tearing them open and dipping them into the shakshuka – eggs poached in a (supposedly) spicy tomato sauce. I say ‘supposedly’ because while the sauce was warm and filling, it was far from spicy, and the eggs needed longer to poach than I gave them. If I were to make this recipe again, I would NOT add any water (directions say to add tomatoes + their juices + 1/2 cup water), and would kick in another anaheim pepper or two.

On the whole, however, a savory and filling breakfast which provided good fuel for a day’s worth of projects. And yay, finally pita bread success!

Recipes, both from Smitten Kitchen:
Shakshuka
Pita Bread

0409 A Relaxed Breakfast

Most mornings I’m up and out of the house before Shane gets out of bed – I take the bus and work an 8 hour day, while he rides his moped and works a 7.5 hour day, giving him a bit more flexibility in his schedule. This means that we rarely sit down to breakfast together – and if we do, it usually takes the form of sitting at our computers with our breakfasts, rather than sharing a meal at the table.

This morning, however, we needed to go to the courthouse to get our marriage license, and as the office doesn’t open until 8:30, we were able to have an actual breakfast featuring an actual conversation and also bacon. We had leftover bacon in the fridge from Monday’s dinner, so I fried that up, and made a quick French toast for Shane using some challah that we’d had in the freezer. I had cottage cheese and a dollop of jam – and bacon, of course. It was really nice to have a little bit of quiet time together before starting our workday – and before raising our hands and swearing that we understand Michigan marriage law, even if we don’t agree with it.

0314 Pi/e Day

I had good intentions of making a pi/e in honor of pi/e day. Very good intentions. Last year I took home the grand prize at my library’s pi/e day competition with Smitten Kitchen‘s Nutmeg-Maple Cream Pie, a delicious departure from the home-y pi/es I usually prefer. If you like maple and are into the pi/e making, I highly recommend it. It’s a show stopper.

Alas, this year there was no occasion nor excuse for making a pi, a pie, or a pi/e. Instead we had waffles:

Delicious out-of-focus waffles, made from a Better Homes & Gardens recipe. On top? Peaches and blueberries that I preserved from last summer, simmered down into a compote and topped with whipped cream. That’s sort of like a deconstructed pi/e, right? Either way, it was good enough for me and Shane Bee.

Recipe:
Buttermilk Waffles from Better Homes & Gardens

0312 Breakfast update

While I’ve been in a bit of a delicious oatmeal rut the last few days, I have persevered in trying some of your breakfast suggestions. Since we last checked in, I have had:

Toasted flatbread with half an avocado – not local, but definitely delicious and full of healthy fats.
Scrambled eggs and flatbread toast, courtesy of a morning when Shane was up earlyish and I slept in. Really good, since I go to work sometimes an hour or more before he leaves, it’s unlikely we’ll get to do this often.

For the last week and change, though, I’ve been hooked on regular ol’ oats. I’ve been soaking a half cup of rolled oats in 3/4 cup of milk overnight – we bought a carton of whole milk last weekend for ice cream, and I’ve been using the extra to make my breakfast a little bit richer – and then microwaving it for about 2 minutes in the morning while the cats run around like nutters and I put their food together. Depending on what’s available, I usually stir in a generous teaspoon of brown sugar and some dried cranberries, though this morning I added the last of a jar of apple butter, which made it deliciously cinnamon-y. I’m almost out of oats, though, so I might have to get creative next week if I don’t remember to pick some up at the store this weekend…

0305 Breakfast @SELMA, Roos-style

Between the holidays, starting a new job, and the fact that it’s damned difficult to get out of bed in the mornings, we managed to go four months without having breakfast at SELMA. This week, however, we felt the first hint of spring in the air, and the combination of sunshine and the promise of crepes proved enough to get us out the door and into Jeff and Lisa’s warm kitchen, where John Roos and his wife were serving up breakfast. Well, that and the fact that we were out of coffee.

I couldn’t have been happier with my breakfast – a buckwheat crêpe complète with local ham, soft cheese, and a barely fried egg, just the way I like it. Shane had a gorgeous pile of scrambled eggs, homemade biscuits, and hippie gravy. I’m not sure how hippie gravy varies from regular gravy other than the lack of meat, but it sure was tasty. We both filled up our mugs with Roos Roast, and left with plenty of time to make it to work AND for Shane to find a parking spot on a beautiful end-of-winter morning. So good, you guys. Let’s not wait another four months before breakfasting at SELMA.