The boys and I went out for our bi-weekly pizza Monday night. As usual we hit our favorite pizza joint over near the University. The running joke in the family is that we wish we could figure out where this pizza place orders our pizza from. They never seem to have any customers except for us.
Eventually they figured out what to do when they saw us come in, but at first they just looked at us in bewilderment, as if to say, “Don’t you guys know that this whole thing is just a facade? We don’t sell pizza here. That’s just a show to keep the authorities out of our business.”
They advertise an open mic night there, but we only ever saw that happen once. This week the parking lot was full, though there were only two ladies at a table inside, who were very entertained by our synchronized parking attempts, by the way; baby Mamma brought her car too. Where all the cars came from we don’t know, because there were a mere hand-full of people shooting pool in the back.
What we should do is have one of us wait in the car, and when the delivery guy goes out, follow him. And when he brings the pizza back from wherever it is (probably Pizza King across town) they get it from, and they bring it to our table, still hot and all, we should say, “You know this tastes just like pizza from Pizza King!”
But that may be a bad idea. I mean, I could see us getting that look from our waitress, then the owner passing by with that hooded glance. If they thought we knew that our favorite pizza joint was really just a front for the mob would they let us out alive? Probably best to just keep our mouths shut and enjoy. After all, the prices are phenomenally cheap, the pizza excellent, the wings quite tasty, and the beer two bucks a pint! Why mess with a good thing?
This week we brought their mother along and threw them off a bit by ordering no wings, but instead our usual large pizza (just 10.99!), half pepperoni and half mushroom, and an additional medium pizza made buffalo chicken style. Whoo–eee. That was good.
Now we try not to over-do the whole pizza thing. We do at least try to keep it healthy as often as we can. I cook fish, skinless chicken, and I’ve tried to teach the boys to make friends with at least one vegetable. Early on their handy answer to that was, “But dad, we don’t eat our friends!” Clever boys. And often we eat at another place in town, Fox’s Markethouse, where there are some much healthier choices. But the downfall with Fox’s is that they also serve breakfast any time. Is there such a thing as a healthy pancake?
Speaking of breakfast, one of the things my boys generally don’t order when we go out is scrambled eggs. Why? I’ll tell you why, because their father makes the best scrambled eggs and omelets ever! That’s why. I remember after their mother and I first split up, she called and said, “Okay, what do you put in your scrambled eggs that mine are missing?”
“Nope. I did that.”
“Fresh cracked pepper?”
“Don’t push it.”
“How about a dusting of paprika at the end?”
“That’s it,” she cried! “I have some in the cupboard. Gotta go. Bye.”
All of this is to say that I thought I made the best scrambled eggs, that is until I stumbled upon a recipe for “Soft Scrambled Eggs” in one of my favorite food blogs, Five and Spice. Frankly, I was stunned. Everything about this recipe went against what I had been taught. You don’t heat the pan first. You don’t put the butter in first. You do put a pinch of salt and pepper in the eggs when you beat them (conventional cooking wisdom used to say that salt dried out the eggs!).
It takes just a little extra time, and a touch of patience, but if you do this the way Emily says, stirring constantly in little concentric circles over low heat, melting the butter into the eggs, the whole nine yards, you might just be won over to soft scrambled eggs like I was. Her photo looked so yummy, and it was 11 AM Monday (my Sunday) and I hadn’t eaten much yet, so I thought it would be worth a try.
Golly, it was the best brunch I’ve ever had! Check out my photo there on the left. Click on it for the large version. Look at those tiny soft, perfect curds! I added 12 grain toast, and a blood orange for color, and it was all part of this complete breakfast.
Do yourself a favor when you have a little time to try something new in the kitchen. Follow her directions, and try this for the most heavenly, fluffy scrambled eggs you’ve had in your life. They are so buttery because you thoroughly melted the butter into them while they cooked. That pinch of salt in the beaten eggs will not dry them out, but will ensure nobody needs to add a touch of salt at the table. You’ll feel like your having breakfast at Tavern on the Green.
Next I plan on adding some other items, some spinach or pancetta perhaps, and of course my old favorite rosemary, but fresh this time. I deserve it.