Say what you will but I love a good runny yolk. The concept grosses a lot of people out and I used to be one of them. I learned how to cook by two women: my mother and my nonna. My mother cooked all food to perfection. Eggs were always scrambled and if I ever dipped a finger into the cake batter I was quickly warned that I may get salmonella. Most of the time the warning came from my mother as her back was turned. She knew. She always knew. My nonna on the other hand would dip her finger in the batter and shove it into my gaping mouth. Her advice was always, “You have to eat it this way to make sure it’s just right. If it isn’t, add more vanilla extract.”
Always add more vanilla extract.
One of the first places I saw near my new humble abode was an adorable French bistro called French Roast. Located on the corner of Eleventh Street and Sixth Avenue the café makes you feel like you’ve stepped out of the streets of New York onto a Parisian rue. I sat inside on a rainy afternoon and ordered a cup of coffee and an Eggs Benedict.
Eggs Benedict is the first way I ever ate an entire egg that had never been fully cooked. It was two years ago at Matt’s Big Breakfast in downtown Phoenix where I first sunk my teeth into a whole new world that would change my views on the consumption of eggs.
Atop an english muffin with ham and covered in hollandaise sauce, perched the plump egg. Was that verbiage in bad taste? I’m sorry to any and all of my vegan viewers out there.
Being a fan of the runny yolk I feel that I can tell you after the hoards of runny yolks I’ve devoured that this one takes the cake. When I sliced into the delicate skin of the egg whites the yolk popped and seeped onto the plate. In that moment I swear I could hear an angelic orchestra playing and the sweet soothing voice of Billy Crystal singing “You Look Marvelous.”
All in all I will probably be going to French Roast more than necessary due to the fact that it stays open 24 hours a day. Thank you Based God.