Eggs Benedict Quotes

Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert… Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music… All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.

Sometimes life is a feast with eggs Benedict & hollandaise sauce, waffles & strawberries, sausage links & hashed brown potatoes. And sometimes life is scrambled eggs. In the end, your stomach gets full all the same. And years from now, you may not remember exactly what you ate.

What is pan but a deceitful benediction on the vulgar and unhealthy fried? Where else might one fry his scallops with chilli and lime juice? In an egg timer?

EGGS BENEDICT It is made up of a poached egg, cheese, bacon and other ingredients on top of a muffin and seasoned with tangy hollandaise. It is one of the more traditional breakfast dishes served in North America. However, Eggs Benedict alone can hardly be called an original dish. Where's the surprise? Still, faced with such beauty... ... I can't help but want to take a bite. AAAH! A perfectly poached egg so soft it melts on the tongue. The refined tang of high-quality hollandaise sauce. Crispy, salty bacon and a sweet, soft muffin! All of these together wrap the tongue in an exquisite harmony of deliciousness! Wait, no. That isn't all. There is a greater depth to the flavor than that. But from what? Hm? What is that golden powder I see? AH! Karasumi! You've sprinkled karasumi on the muffin! *Karasumi: Dried mullet roe. It is considered a delicacy in Japan* I see! Karasumi is made of roe, which are fish eggs! It was the salty delicacy of the karasumi mixed with the richness of the egg yolk... ... that created such a deep and robust flavor!

Wait a minute... that dish. I've seen it before! It's the Tempura-Egg Rice Bowl he served me before! "Now, I've made two servings of this. One for you, of course, Book Master. The other one... how about you taste it, Nakiri." "Yukihira?" "Don't confuse this for the dish I served you that other time. See, that old dish wasn't enough to make you say it was good... ... so I've been secretly working on some new twists I could add to it. Eat! Erina Nakiri! Dig in. I call it my Soma-Style... ... Eggs Benedict over Rice... ... fit for a Queen.

Sunday brunch is an easy, pleasant way to entertain a largish group, especially in the country. Americans who overslept invented the word brunch, but the ingredients and the casual atmosphere bear a strong resemblance to breakfast in an English country house or to a French midnight supper. The choice of menu can be as wide as the imagination. Practically anything goes — from hearty breakfast dishes such as filled omelettes, kidneys, chicken livers and bacon, sausages, and eggs Benedict. Something pretty in aspic, or a salmon mousse in a fish-shaped mold, makes a lovely centerpiece. Best of all, most of the meal can be prepared way ahead of time and it can be managed without outside help — if, that is, the hostess puts in a lot of work the day before and early that morning. People can wander in when they feel like it, so there’s no need to tint this one. Drinks are no problem. A big punch bowl with chunks of fresh fruit makes a nice starter, and mixings for bloody Marys, screwdrivers, or bullshots can be left on a table for guests to serve themselves. Of course there should be a big pot of very good coffee.

This hollandaise sauce that's been generously drizzled over the whole dish... I can taste yuzu kosho and soy sauce in it. That's a decidedly Japanese twist on a typically very European sauce! The heavy savoriness of thick sliced pork grilled to a crusty golden brown... ... balances perfectly with the briskly tart Shio Konbu seaweed and shiso leaves mixed into the rice! Then there's the centerpiece of his dish, the tempura egg! It's crispy on the outside and delectably soft and gooey on the inside! Instead of freezing it, he must have poached the egg before deep-frying it this time! The whites are unbelievably tender, and the soft-boiled yolk is so creamy you might not believed it's cooked! To batter and deep-fry a poached egg that delicate without crushing it... ... you'd need skill and a touch bordering on the superhuman! Just how much has he trained?! How hard has he practiced... ... to make this single dish?! "Sure does take you back, doesn't it? This Eggs Benedict. I switched the muffin out for some seasoned rice, a family-restaurant staple. Then there's the poached egg that I deep-fried. Pork chops for the bacon. Japanese-style hollandaise sauce.

Elvis is in the kitchen and he’s making eggs Benedict!

The egg-man looks over my shoulder. “Those wings aren’t the only proof of your heritage. You’re a traitor, sending us all up river so you could save your petty mortal half. You’re nothing short of a—” “Benedict,” I interrupt between clenched teeth. Hubert’s eyes narrow—curious and hate-filled. “Eggs Benedict.” I point to a picture on the menu. “Poached eggs. Canadian bacon. Hollandaise sauce and an English muffin. And I’d like a side of fruit.”

She dipped a clean pinkie into the hollandaise in the bowl. It coated her finger like a sheath of yellow velvet. Despite her nerves, she plated swiftly and surely. She lifted the poached eggs clear from the shimmering, hot water with a safecracker's touch, laying each one with infinite care in place on top of its foundation of English muffin and Canadian bacon. Silky drizzle of hollandaise, sprinkle of fresh parsley, grind of black pepper, framed with creamed spinach, dusted with paprika. Done.

Everyone can make scrambled eggs, Remy. It’s programmed into you at birth, the default setting. Like being able to swim and knowing not to mix pickles with oatmeal. You just know.” “My mother,” I told him, pushing the cart farther up the aisle as he lagged along beside, taking long, loping steps, “doesn’t even like scrambled eggs. She only eats eggs Benedict.

PIBIL EGGS BENEDICT 1 English muffin 2 slow-poached eggs 4 ounces pulled pork, cochinita pibil-style A pinch of chopped cilantro FOR THE HABANERO HOLLANDAISE: 2 habanero chilies, deveined and seeded 3 egg yolks 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard 1/2 cup butter

Here is your Carnitas Eggs Benedict with Chipotle Hollandaise. I still feel bad about dropping your food the other day." He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You were shocked. I'm just grateful I can eat here every day now." "Until you close it down." Ouch. "Well, maybe we can add these to the menu." Julieta rolled her eyes. Man, she was tough.

Along with the regular brunch selections of eggs Benedict and Belgian waffles, they planned to serve individual portions of Poof in custard dishes. They also had a whole section for different kinds of toast: peanut butter and bacon, cinnamon sugar, cream cheese and tomato.

Everything was local, sustainable, and ethically sourced. There were only a dozen or so dishes on the menu, but each was mouthwatering. Sussex cider pork belly served with homemade applesauce, roasted parsnips, and caramelized onions. A salmon eggs Benedict with house-made English muffins and fresh local free-range eggs. Several vegetarian and vegan options with a South Asian flair. It all sounded delicious.

I could see reminders of why I had cast aside my phone in the first place. I sat in Café Heaven, a lovely little place in the West End of Provincetown, and ate an eggs Benedict. Next to me there were two men in, I guess, their mid-twenties. I shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation while pretending to read David Copperfield. It was clear they had met on an app, and this was the first time they had seen each other in person. Something about their conversation seemed odd to me, and I couldn’t place it at first. Then I realized they weren’t, in fact, having a conversation at all. What would happen is the first one, who was blond, would talk about himself for ten minutes or so. Then the second one, who was dark-haired, would talk about himself for ten minutes. And they alternated in this way, interrupting each other. I sat next to them for two hours, and at no point did either of them ask the other person a question. At one point, the dark-haired man mentioned that his brother had died a month before. The blond didn’t even offer a cursory “I’m so sorry to hear that”; he simply went back to talking about himself. I realized that if they had met up simply to read out their own Facebook status updates to each other in turn, there would have been absolutely no difference. I felt like everywhere I went, I was surrounded by people who were broadcasting but not receiving. Narcissism, it occurred to me, is a corruption of attention—it’s where your attention becomes turned in only on yourself and your own ego. I don’t say this with any sense of superiority. I am embarrassed to describe what I realized in that week that I missed most about the web. Every day in my normal life—sometimes several times a day—I would look at Twitter and Instagram to see how many followers I had. I didn’t look at the feed, the news, the buzz—just my own stats. If the figure had gone up, I felt glad—like a money-obsessed miser checking the state of his personal stocks and finding he was slightly richer than yesterday. It was as if I was saying to myself, See? More people are following you. You matter. I didn’t miss the content of what they said. I just missed the raw numbers, and the sense that they were growing.

Well, I’m off my diet for the day. Dad will make his Country Eggs Benedict,” I said. Instead of an English muffin, he used buttermilk biscuits. He substituted the Canadian bacon with sausage patties and the Hollandaise sauce with cracked pepper sausage gravy. When you added an over easy egg it was one of Tami’s favorites.

Am I understanding this right?” Mimi says. “You bought a café and saved a man from financial ruin to…get revenge?” “I paid him less than what it’s worth,” I mutter. “Face it, Uncle Grey.” Zen pops a bite of eggs benedict into their mouth. “You’re not built for being a bloodthirsty man of vengeance.” I’m not.

I obviously love Jack the Horse Tavern in Brooklyn Heights. The smoked trout salad is what lures me back again and again; it's indicative of the offbeat menu that also includes baked eggs, buckwheat pancakes, and a shrimp club sandwich. Everything at the Farm on Adderly is fresh and tasty. This Ditmas Park pioneer keeps it simple and refined: a smoked pollock cake with harissa mayonnaise, french toast with apple compote, and a kale salad with dried cherries and hazelnuts. Yes, please! Tucked away in the north of ever-popular DUMBO, Vinegar Hill House feels like you've actually trekked to Vermont. In the rustic ambiance, you can indulge in fancy cocktails along with the oversized sourdough pancake, tarragon-accented omelet, or eggs Benedict topped with pickled onion. Buttermilk Channel is the ultimate indulgence- pecan pie french toast, Provençal bean stew, a house-cured lox platter. Because of the over-the-top menu and portions, this Carroll Gardens bistro hops all day, every Sunday.

When the facts of slave labour and especially the slave trade from Africa began to filter through to the Vatican chambers in Rome, popes began to express their concern. This was good. The popes began to criticise the exploitation of the native peoples. But unfortunately, they did not examine the principle of slavery itself. Thus Pope Paul III, in 1537, condemned the indiscriminate enslavement of Indians in South America. But when challenged, he confirmed ten years later that both clergy and laity had the right to own slaves. A century later, in 1639, Pope Urban VIII criticised unjust practices against the natives, but did not deny the four 'just titles' for owning slaves. Pope Benedict XIV condemned the wholesale enslavement of natives in Brazil — without denouncing slavery as such, nor the importation of slaves from Africa.

There is fresh fruit, eggs Benedict in a creamy hollandaise sauce, scrambled eggs with goat cheese, truffle onsen eggs, brioche French toast, steamed rice, miso soup, grilled salted mackerel, rice with a salty pink pickled plum on top----enough to feed an army.

Eggs Benedict, served in perfectly steamed artichoke hearts, with slices of thick-cut, grilled pancetta and a hollandaise sauce the color of a Cézanne sunrise; lush, tender strawberries with clotted cream and muscovado sugar; warm croissants; hand-cured smoked salmon; and coffee heated in mugs.

My name is Benedict Montgomery, but most people call me “Ben” for short. Actually, that’s not entirely true. My family calls me “Ben.” Most people call me “Egg-boy” even though I beg them to stop. The name evolved from an unfortunate choice in wardrobe one day not too long ago. Like all bad things