Two-Handers

I’ve only recently started to give a damn about breakfast.  I really only have one requirement for a good breakfast:  a runny egg yolk situation.  However you wanted to create an allure around that, I was cool with, but even with that requirement, not too much blew my mind, it was just something pretty nice that I could eat while enjoying a heavily-horseradished-bloody with friends.  My complacency, however, was just recently blown out of the ever-lovin’ water.  

I am oh-so-stupid-lucky to have found myself a boyfriend who is not only utterly fascinating to team up with in the kitchen, but often-times does better with off-the-cuff “what do we have in the fridge” situations than ones that take planning and time.  On his first visit here (he lives in Chicago), he made us a breakfast that I’m now dubbing a “two-hander”, that just about changed my whole attitude towards the meal.  It can pretty much consist of any amalgamation of what you want, but involves making a real, lunchtime-style sandwich with eggs.  

Gone are the days of bacon egg and cheese, friends.  This thing was two poached eggs on grilled brioche with beefsteak tomato, sauteed garlic scapes (I didn’t know what these were until about 2 months ago when I saw them at the market and thought they looked so wonky that I had to figure them out -- they’re like scallions if scallions did acid with Tim Burton and Mario Batali), and grated aged gouda.  Like I said, a lunchtime sammy with eggs.  I looked at it and went catatonic, and then took a bite and looked at Toph with childlike wonderment.  My day was made and we hadn’t even left the couch yet.

Since then, I’ve been kind of obsessed with trying it different ways, and even made one for myself for dinner tonight.  That’s right, they’re so damn good, I’ll even eat breakfast for dinner now.  

My favorite so far, not to toot my own horn, has been my own.  Before a day trip to Stone Barns a couple of weekends ago where we took a tour learning about wild food and ecology (go, do it, it was amazing), I whipped up maybe the best breakfast I’ve ever had.  Behold:

To be fair, Toph poached the eggs.  I was running a little slow taking care of my accouterments, and he gets cave-man-cranky when his hunger hits a certain level.  On the grilled toast I spread some curried garlic scape ricotta that we had used the night before to make some incredible stuffed zuchinni flowers.  Then I took juicy vine ripe tomatoes and tossed thick slices of them, along with slices of pear and some pea shoots, in a white balsamic vinagarette that I'd whisked up. E voila.  All of this -- the depth of the curried g.s. ricotta, the vibrance of the marinaded tomato, sweetness of the pear, the green crunch of the pea shoots and the deep golden molten ooze of the egg yolk (I prefer Kinderhook Farms free-running, free-nesting chicken eggs) -- combined in the most joyous symphony of flavor my tongue has ever seen before noon.  I am converted, and even if you didn’t need converting, do yourself a favor, open up your fridge, and make yourself a two-hander with whatever-something-like-this you can.  You’re welcome in advance.