My ideal breakfast is baked eggs, a nice thick ham steak and wondrously high popovers, this is the food that makes Sunday mornings so special and different from the other 6 days. Sundays are the time to slowdown and reflect on your week and your loved ones in your non formal pajamas for hours. A nice and slow day...
When we were kids my Mother always made baked eggs, that is what she called them. The English like to call them shirred eggs, but the concept is exactly the same. Because it is a dish based in the 60’s we start with a Pyrex custard cup, you know the clear glass cups that hold 7 or 8 ounces, cups that were basic kitchen equipment before we all got so sophisticated.
When Campanile stopped serving daily breakfast a decade ago, the regulars (but
obviously not enough of them) who'd made a cappuccino and pastry or
poached eggs and ham at the restaurant part of their morning routine
were devastated. They had become accustomed to using the white
tablecloth restaurant as an office away from the office. Over a
sumptuous breakfast, they would meet clients, hold meetings, plot goals
and projects. Screenwriters scribbled, actors pored over scripts and
there may already have been a few bloggers at their keyboards. And then
it ended (except for weekend brunch, which is still going strong).
It’s 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and like any well-adjusted
twentysomething, I’m eating breakfast. More specifically, I’m having
brioche french toast and cappuccino at the Little Next Door on 3rd with
my friend Gloria. After living in LA for six months, I have determined
that breakfast in the afternoon is exactly the sort of reckless
behavior Sundays demand.
