Brunch and Benedict

A couple of years ago Paul introduced me to Brunch.org, a fantastically tongue in cheek window into one of life’s sublime pleasures. His brother was one of its reviewers and he and his colleagues toured the world (well, mostly New York) eating Eggs Benedict and writing reviews after each meal. Brunch.org covered Benedict while its sister website, Dinner.org, reviewed Steak au Poivre. Brunch.org helped me along my culinary odyssey. Eggs Benedict, the most regal of breakfast foods, would be central to my philosophy of food as a prism onto both the quotidian and the extraordinary.

Eggs Benedict introduced itself to me by reputation first, as an actual meal second. Every Sunday at HMC, Benedict is the special. As a pancake preferring kid, I never paid much attention. Virtually every HMC adult with whom I conversed about breakfast, however, seemed to mention this special dish, and so the power of Benedict began to worm its way into the spotlight. I’m not sure when I had my first Benedict, but I don’t think it was at HMC. I think it was a moment in the outside world when I was reading over a brunch menu and for whatever reason, “Eggs Benedict” danced off the page and I decided to test its mystique. That may or may not be true, and this reconstruction effort just may be a great example of the creative power of memory, but I can’t think of a rivaling version.

When I see Benedict on a menu now, I don’t have to order it. It’s not a chicken parm or a doner kebab. If I see those on the menu board (the places that have that kind of thing don’t usually have menus you hold in your hand), I pretty much have to get them. Not so with Benedict. If I see Benny, I have to weigh out whether or not it is truly time for one. Often times it is, but a lot of the time it’s back to the childhood trend towards pancakes, although now I usually get some bacon and poached eggs with my pancakes, but that’s more a factor of expanding girth than anything else.

When Adam and I were spending many late nights discussing our grand plans for our bar/café type hangout, The Library, we wound up talking about Benedict a lot. The reason for this is that it was the only food we were going to offer. Of course we’d have Florentine, Blackstone, and whatever other variation of Eggs Benedict that you can think of, but we wouldn’t have any pancakes, waffles, or omelets. Just Eggs Benedict and its relatives. We chose to focus on only one concept because we felt it’d help solidify our reputation and make us stand out in a crowd. That and it’d be simpler to run a kitchen that cooked only one thing. But really the reason was just that it was kind of funny. This was exactly the sort of idea that carried us into entrepreneurial visions – if you can do whatever you want because it’s your business, why not just serve Eggs Benedict?

We chose Eggs Benedict because it was the king of Brunch. New Yorkers who never want to leave New York sometimes say that they’re at the peak of urban culture and that moving to any other city would be a step down. We felt the same way about Benedict. Why offer anything that wasn’t the king? Well, The Library doesn’t exist. It seems as though my efforts to go through entrepreneurial training camp have put a muzzle on ideas like only offering Eggs Benedict. From a bank account standpoint, that’s a great thing. From a creative juices standpoint, that’s less great.

But Eggs Benedict is still here. Maybe it doesn’t have to be the only offering in some imagined restaurant. Maybe writing about Benedict is the right thing to do. It doesn’t look like Brunch.org has had any new reviews for a couple of years. Our marketing czar emailed them when we put Steak au Poivre on the menu and never heard back, and that was a year ago. So maybe this can be a grassroots effort to revive the Brunch.org spirit. Not that I was ever an official part of the website beyond superfan status (though maybe that could change too…Paul, may need your help here), but I can do one thing. I’ll write a review of every Eggs Benedict I eat from here on in. I’d make the same promise for Steak au Poivre, if only for solidarity’s sake, but I hardly ever see that on a menu. I can cook a mean Poivre, but the idea isn’t to review myself. Anyway, let’s think about that one later. Now, let’s start the Benedicting.

The scene: this morning, Café Mason. None of us had been there before. We were gambling, and our odds were looking good. The restaurant gave me the option to have fruit with my Benedict instead of potatoes. I guess it’s good that we clear this up now. I’m not a purist. In fact, I’m kind of a rebel. I know why potatoes are essential to this dish and I don’t care. I wanted fruit because my body needed it. If this disqualifies me from any shot at being a Benedict Chief, I guess that’s the way it goes. I just couldn’t argue with the cut fresh fruit option this morning.

The dish arrived and the Hollandaise immediately stuck out, as I could see that it was foamy and light. This is a nice perk. It helps ward off the heart attack feeling after sucking down a bunch of that sauce. I cut into the eggs and ACK! they were hard. I order poached eggs a lot, and I never specify how I want my yolks as people do with sunny side up eggs. Usually they just come out runny and fine. I think chefs know that poached egg eaters prefer their yolks runny. Apparently this guy did not. I was dismayed by this hard yolk. The fun of Benedict is when the yolk spills out and blends with the Hollandaise. That wasn’t going to happen this time, but I plowed ahead.

The Canadian Bacon was fine. I think the only time I will severely critique this meat is when it’s processed to oblivion, tastes of chemicals, and has an unnaturally round shape. It would be nice to have an unbelievable slice of Canadian Bacon. We’ll see. I know it’s out there, but I haven’t had it yet.

The muffin was chewy and spongelike, perfect for its sauce mopping duties. The sauce itself was indeed foamy and light and the lemon flavor held its own in the face of every other component of the dish. Everything except the hard yolk was terrific, but unfortunately for Café Mason, that’s a big factor.

And there it is – Benedict number one. The last one I ate before this was at a joint in Watsonville surrounded by warehouses. I can’t remember the details on that one well enough to write about though, so this series will have to wait until the next Benedict.