Sunday, June 11, 2006

Breakfast Euphoria

I walked down to the Silver Fork for breakfast this morning. I got there at about 11, so there were just a few respectable pre-church people there, and I left just before noon, right before the respectable post-church people showed up in force.

I said I was going to have me some bacon, but it didn't happen. Here was my order: chicken fried steak with two eggs over medium, grits, wheat toast. My server asked me if I wanted the gravy on the side and I said "yes, please..." and then he chuckled to himself as he finished my sentence.... "so it stays crispy."

It's not that I go there so much that the server finishes my sentences. I haven't walked down the block in over a year, probably. It's just that we share an understanding.

Anyway, my breakfast was perfect. Everything was in a reasonable portion, not too big, not too small. My chicken fried steak arrived steaming hot and crispy and juicy on the inside. Big pile of grits, two beautiful eggs, two normal pieces of wheat toast, lightly buttered. I'm feeling slightly euphoric. I can't eat like that every day (but I'd like to).

Also, I noticed that there was no butter on the table. Thank goodness. I have memories of crappy, oversized breakfasts in Michigan with government cheese-size bricks of butter on the table. Gak.

Yesterday, I had breakfast at Taqueria el rinconsito, which now has a website! So, now all you fear-filled north Seattlites may still be completely ignorant of south Seattle, but you can no longer make the claim that there's no authentic Mexican food in the Northwest. Now you'll have to make up another excuse to disguise your fear.

So yesterday, they made me a chorizo scramble, even though it wasn't on the menu. Of course I ate it with beans, rice, and corn tortillas, and it was mythical. I love summer break.

One piece of trivia for you to hold on to, the next time there's a JohnPatrick Trivia Contest: hot refried beans make me DROWZY. If I don't have a nap an hour after eating refried beans, I'm driving the car into the guardrail. It is my kryptonite. It is my Ambien (but it doesn't make me do crazy things in my sleep. I think.) .

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