Hash Brown Quotes

Isabelle glanced back at them. "They're staring at you. Maybe their master died and they're looking for another vampire to own them. You could have pets." She grinned. "Or," Simon said ,"maybe they're here for the hash browns.

I laughed and pointed out that "Hash Browns Mean Nothing Without You" was a pretty good name for a band. "Or a song," the Duke said, and then she started singing all glam rock, a glove up to her face holding an imaginary mic as she rocked out an a cappella power ballad. "Oh, I deep fried for you / But now I weep 'n' cry for you / Oh, babe, this meal was made for two / And these hash browns mean nothing, oh these hash browns mean nothing, yeah these HASH BROWNS MEAN NOTHIN' without you.

People will find transformation and transcendence in a McDonald's hash brown if it's all they've got.

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.

God, I am always foiled by my love of hash browns!

The next morning we experienced our very first “full English breakfast,” which consisted of tea, orange juice, cookies, oatmeal, granola, berries, bananas, croissants, grapes, pineapples, prunes, yogurt, five kinds of cold cereal, eggs, hash browns, back bacon, sausage, smoked salmon, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, toast, butter, jam, jelly, and honey. I don’t know how the British do it.

and then I couldn't wait anymore, and my hand was on the back of her head, and then her lips on mine, the cold air gone and replaced with the warmth of her mouth, soft and sweet and hash-brown-tastic

When I saw her naked, my penis went from hash brown to French fry.


There’s something mystical about perfect hash browns, something that stirs the soul,

Maybe if he was the sort of man who could eat someone else's hash browns, who the hotel wanted to impress so much they sent him someone else's breakfast, maybe then he was the sort of man who could get an audience with the King.

hm," Ivor mused. "Some hash ought to fix that; hash fixes everything --helped me when I had the sniffles last year's winter.

Like That" Love me like a wrong turn on a bad road late at night, with no moon and no town anywhere and a large hungry animal moving heavily through the brush in the ditch. Love me with a blindfold over your eyes and the sound of rusty water blurting from the faucet in the kitchen, leaking down through the floorboards to hot cement. Do it without asking, without wondering or thinking anything, while the machinery’s shut down and the watchman’s slumped asleep before his small TV showing the empty garage, the deserted hallways, while the thieves slice through the fence with steel clippers. Love me when you can’t find a decent restaurant open anywhere, when you’re alone in a glaring diner with two nuns arguing in the back booth, when your eggs are greasy and your hash browns underdone. Snick the buttons off the front of my dress and toss them one by one into the pond where carp lurk just beneath the surface, their cold fins waving. Love me on the hood of a truck no one’s driven in years, sunk to its fenders in weeds and dead sunflowers; and in the lilies, your mouth on my white throat, while turtles drag their bellies through slick mud, through the footprints of coots and ducks. Do it when no one’s looking, when the riots begin and the planes open up, when the bus leaps the curb and the driver hits the brakes and the pedal sinks to the floor, while someone hurls a plate against the wall and picks up another, love me like a freezing shot of vodka, like pure agave, love me when you’re lonely, when we’re both too tired to speak, when you don’t believe in anything, listen, there isn’t anything, it doesn’t matter; lie down with me and close your eyes, the road curves here, I’m cranking up the radio and we’re going, we won’t turn back as long as you love me, as long as you keep on doing it exactly like that.

This is Ireland, Fliss. We've got about every type of potato dish in existence. We've got hash browns.

Do they not teach people in America about the necessity of fruits and vegetables in a diet?” she asked me as she eyed the burrito. “There’s hash browns in here and potatoes are a vegetable,

It had nothing to do with hash browns!” “Everything has to do with hash browns,” she said. “As the poet wrote: So much depends upon the golden hash browns, glazed with oil, beside the scrambled eggs.

And of course, Garrett, who ordered scattered, smothered, and covered waffles with sausage and hash browns, leaves literally a dollar. I don’t get that. Leave a fucking real tip. I throw an extra couple of dollars down myself to make up for it.

WaHos are the best. They never close, and when they do? You know a natural disaster’s on its way, so you better get the fuck out of there. Their hash browns are either the best things in the world or so soggy they’re soup. It’s only the greatest modern tavern experience in the world.

Noah didn’t walk, he stalked and I loved the mischievous glint in his eye when he stalked me. He placed his hands on my hips and nuzzled my hair. “I love the way you smell.” I swallowed and tried to reign in the mutant pterodactyls having a roller derby in my stomach as I dared to think about a future for the two of us. The moment Aires’ car rumbled beneath me, I’d known that I needed Noah in my life. Aires’ death had left a gaping hole in my heart. I thought all I needed was that car to run. Wrong. A car would never fill the emptiness, but love could. “I hope your future includes me. I mean, someone has to continue to kick your butt in pool.” Noah laughed as he snagged his fingers around my belt loops and dragged me closer. “I was letting you win.” “Please.” His eyes had about fallen out of his head when I’d sunk a couple of balls off the break. “You were losing. Badly.” I wondered if he also reveled in the warmth of being this close again. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep you around. For good. You’ll be useful during a hustle.” He lowered his forehead to mine and his brown eyes, which had been laughing seconds ago, darkened as he got serious. “I have a lot I want to say to you. A lot I want to apologize for.” “Me, too.” And I touched his cheek again, this time letting my fingers take their time. Noah wanted me, for good. “But can we hash it all out some other time? I’m sort of talked out and I’ve still gotta go see my dad. Do you think we can just take it on faith right now that I want you, you want me, and we’ll figure out the happy ending part later?” His lips curved into a sexy smile and I became lost in him. “I love you, Echo Emerson.” I whispered the words as he brought his lips to mine. “Forever.

When Elisa arrives at McDonald’s, the manager unlocks the door and lets her in. Sometimes the husband-and-wife cleaning crew are just finishing up. More often, it’s just Elisa and the manager in the restaurant, surrounded by an empty parking lot. For the next hour or so, the two of them get everything ready. They turn on the ovens and grills. They go downstairs into the basement and get food and supplies for the morning shift. They get the paper cups, wrappers, cardboard containers, and packets of condiments. They step into the big freezer and get the frozen bacon, the frozen pancakes, and the frozen cinnamon rolls. They get the frozen hash browns, the frozen biscuits, the frozen McMuffins. They get the cartons of scrambled egg mix and orange juice mix. They bring the food upstairs and start preparing it before any customers appear, thawing some things in the microwave and cooking other things on the grill. They put the cooked food in special cabinets to keep it warm.

There are two kinds of crisp potatoes that I prefer above all others. The first are called Swiss potatoes, and they're essentially a large potato pancake of perfect hash browns; the flipping of the pancake is so wildly dramatic that the potatoes themselves are almost beside the point. The second are called potatoes Anna; they are thin circles of potato cooked in a shallow pan in the oven and then turned onto a plate in a darling mound of crunchy brownness. Potatoes Anna is a classic French recipe, but there is something so homely and old-fashioned about them that they can usually be passed off as either an ancient family recipe or something you just made up.

Then you can go home to the puppeteer worlds and tell them that mucking with human breeding habits is a chancy business. Tell them that enough Teela Browns could make a hash of all the laws of probability. Even basic physics is nothing more than probability at the atomic level. Tell them the universe is too complicated a toy for a sensibly cautious being to play with.

First, the idea of the multiverse is essentially the fantasy of preserving perfect information. One of the hard things to deal with in life is the fact that you destroy potential information whenever you make a decision. You could even say that's essentially what regret is: a profound problem of incomplete information. If you select one thing on a diner's menu, you can't know what it would have been like to taste other things on it, right then, right there. When you marry one person, you give up the possibility of knowing what it would have been like to have married any number of others. But if the multiverse exists, you can at least imagine there's another version of you who's eating that other thing you thought about ordering, or who's married to that other man you only went on two dates with. Even if you'll never see all the information for yourself, at least you'll be able to tell yourself that it's there. 'The second reason the multiverse seems like such a neat idea is that it gives human beings just an incredible amount of agency, which they can exercise with the least effort. Why, Carson here created an entire alternate universe when he ordered hash browns on the side of his French toast instead of bacon—' 'Ah, I should have gotten bacon, how could I forget,' Carson said, and attempted to hail the waitress. 'But the history of science shows that any theory that covertly panders to the human ego like that, that puts humans at the center of things, is very likely to be found out wrong, given enough time. So, just for the sake of argument, let's assume that there's just this one universe, and we're stuck with it. What happens to our time traveler then?

Come on. Let’s go get coffee, get your mind off it,” Silas says soothingly as I begin to take my frustration out on the bag of bread, violently twisting the end of the plastic into a knot. “I don’t like coffee,” I grumble without looking at him. Silas reaches forward and puts his hands over mine. Goose bumps erupt on my arms. He raises his eyebrows, voice gentle. “You can get chocolate milk, then. But let’s get out of here before you bend the entire loaf in half.” I sigh and look at him. Funny how he can go from being “just Silas” to Silas in a matter of seconds. I release the bread and follow him out the door, my frustration and the flutter feeling fighting for control of me. The diner Silas takes me to is just a few blocks away, a dingy but classic-looking place with black and white tile and red neon signs blinking things such as “Apple Pie!” and “Specialty Hash Browns!” We slide into a booth, and a waitress who is missing several teeth grins at us and asks us for our order. “Just a cup of coffee for me. You, Rosie?” “Chocolate milk,” I reply with a snide look at Silas. He laughs and the waitress hurries away. Then, silence. Silas rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, and I pretend to read a piece of paper outlining the history of the diner. Right. “So,” I blurt out, a little louder than I meant to, “I guess you didn’t get much time at home, did you? Back from California and now stuck here with us?” Is my voice shaking? I think my voice is shaking.

Every once in a while at a restaurant, the dish you order looks so good, you don't even know where to begin tackling it. Such are HOME/MADE's scrambles. There are four simple options- my favorite is the smoked salmon, goat cheese, and dill- along with the occasional special or seasonal flavor, and they're served with soft, savory home fries and slabs of grilled walnut bread. Let's break it down: The scramble: Monica, who doesn't even like eggs, created these sublime scrambles with a specific and studied technique. "We whisk the hell out of them," she says, ticking off her methodology on her fingers. "We use cream, not milk. And we keep turning them and turning them until they're fluffy and in one piece, not broken into bits of egg." The toast: While the rave-worthiness of toast usually boils down to the quality of the bread, HOME/MADE takes it a step further. "The flame char is my happiness," the chef explains of her preference for grilling bread instead of toasting it, as 99 percent of restaurants do. That it's walnut bread from Balthazar, one of the city's best French bakeries, doesn't hurt. The home fries, or roasted potatoes as Monica insists on calling them, abiding by chefs' definitions of home fries (small fried chunks of potatoes) versus hash browns (shredded potatoes fried greasy on the griddle) versus roasted potatoes (roasted in the oven instead of fried on the stove top): "My potatoes I've been making for a hundred years," she says with a smile (really, it's been about twenty). The recipe came when she was roasting potatoes early on in her career and thought they were too bland. She didn't want to just keep adding salt so instead she reached for the mustard, which her mom always used on fries. "It just was everything," she says of the tangy, vinegary flavor the French condiment lent to her spuds. Along with the new potatoes, mustard, and herbs de Provence, she uses whole jacket garlic cloves in the roasting pan. It's a simple recipe that's also "a Zen exercise," as the potatoes have to be continuously turned every fifteen minutes to get them hard and crispy on the outside and soft and billowy on the inside.

MARTA’S LAST MEAL—PYTT I PANNA In foaming butter, separately and aggressively brown cubed beef, potatoes, and diced onions until crisp. Incorporate ingredients in the skillet with additional butter, season and reheat. Form a well in the mixture, and break a raw egg into it. Stir the egg into the hash before serving.

OJ, milk, butter, eggs, half a roll of country sausage, a cantaloupe, Kroger's whole-grain bread, a can of French Market chicory coffee, some blackberry preserves- just the right makings of a good Southern breakfast for just my kind of man. No matter that breakfast has always been my favorite meal and that this would be another major test of my willpower. 'Bout the time I'd started frying a big patty of sausage for him, I noticed a few red potatoes in a basket, peeled and cut one up, and tossed the cubes in the same large cast-iron skillet for hashed browns. At first I'd thought of doing soft-scrambled eggs for us both, but while I was beating four eggs with a little milk as quietly as possible, I remembered seeing a package of Jack cheese in the door of the fridge, as well as a couple of jalapeños on the windowsill, and suddenly decided to make my guy a spicy cheese omelette to really impress him.

My boy! It's really true, you really love hashed brown potatoes? You make me so happy. JACK [without conviction]: Yes, I like them, I adore them!

I’M SITTING at the counter in my favorite New York diner, tucking into eggs over easy with hash browns—very English, the breakfast fry-up, but very American, too. I’m washing it down with cranberry juice—caffeine is probably the only vice I don’t have—and someone turns on the radio. Most of the time, I don’t hear music. My brain just tunes it out. We’re all bombarded with some sort of music on a daily basis—in shops, TV commercials, restaurants, lifts—most of it simply noise pollution, deadening us to the real joy of music. So I only listen when I really want to. But the Puerto Rican waitress has turned on a Spanish channel, and a seductive salsa rhythm seeps into the room. It’s a charanga band—a traditional group that uses flute and violin over the standard latin rhythm section of congas, bongos, and timbales—and now I’m half-listening. Then the violinist takes a solo, and I’m hooked. He’s a great, inspired player. The band is playing a simple three-chord vamp, and he follows the chords closely, and yet still manages to come up with witty, ingenious, melodic twists. And the way he plays with the time! Dragging a phrase, and then ending it right on the beat. Setting up syncopations—accents that go against the beat—and then turning them around, playing them backwards. Then he hits an unexpected high note, and it’s like a shaft of light going right through my body, filling me with warmth. Without even thinking, I cry out—“Yeah!” or “All right!” or something—and I marvel at the way that music, after all these years, can still surprise me. The guy next to me just goes on munching his cheeseburger. But something special has happened, even if I’m the only one who knows it. The band on the radio are most likely second- or third-generation Puerto Ricans who were raised uptown, way uptown—in the Bronx—in a different world from me. But through the music, they’ve connected with an Englishman way downtown, in a way that would otherwise never happen.

Swееt Pоtаtо Hаѕh • 1 large ѕwееt роtаtо, peeled аnd dісеd • 1 red bell рерреr, diced • 1/2 rеd onion, dісеd • 2 tbѕр оlіvе оіl • 1/2 tѕр salt • 1/4 tsp blасk рерреr • 1/4 tѕр paprika • 1/4 tѕр gаrlіс powder • 2 eggs Inѕtruсtіоnѕ: 1. Preheat thе оvеn to 400°F. 2. In a mіxіng bowl, соmbіnе thе ѕwееt potato, rеd bеll рерреr, rеd onion, оlіvе oil, ѕаlt, blасk рерреr, рарrіkа, and garlic powder. 3. Sрrеаd thе mіxturе in a ѕіnglе lауеr оn a baking sheet аnd bаkе fоr 25-30 mіnutеѕ, ѕtіrrіng occasionally, untіl thе ѕwееt роtаtоеѕ are tеndеr аnd browned. 4. Crасk the еggѕ on top оf thе sweet роtаtо hash and rеturn tо thе oven for аn аddіtіоnаl 5-7 mіnutеѕ until thе еggѕ аrе ѕеt. Makes 2 ѕеrvіngѕ. Nutrіtіоnаl information реr ѕеrvіng: 308 саlоrіеѕ, 8g рrоtеіn, 29g саrbоhуdrаtеѕ, 19g fаt, 5g fiber.

The girls met at least one Saturday a month for brunch at Blue's Egg in Wauwatosa. It was a nice middle distance between them all and had the most incredible hash browns.

I’m shanty Irish. A south Boston boy—you’ll hear the accent when I get excited or drunk,” Hennessey said. “We know potatoes. But most of us still can’t make a decent slab of hash browns to save our lives. We can boil stuff like nobody’s business, but frying is too exotic.

Once my plate landed on the table, I couldn't help eating the hash like I was starving. He'd added a little sautéed garlic and parsley at the end, and the fragrance against the crispy potatoes made me hum with happiness. I was about to pick up my plate and his to wash them when he said, "I could make amazing fries if you wanted." I shook my head. "They wouldn't work for the book. People think deep-frying at home is incredibly messy, and the low-fat and low-carb lobbies finished the job." He laced his fingers behind behind his head. "That's a shame. But I didn't mean for the book." I stared at him. "You'd make fries just for me?" His cheeks went a little pink.

Cassandra tokens are signed 64-bit integers, so the minimum possible hash is -263 or -9223372036854775808 and the maximum possible hash is 263-1 or 9223372036854775807.

Place the frozen hash browns in the bowl of a food processor. Use the steel blade, and process with an on-and-off motion until the potatoes are finely chopped. (If you don’t have a food processor, you don’t have to go out and buy one to make these. Just lay your frozen potatoes out on a cutting board in single layers, and chop them up into much smaller pieces with a chef’s knife.) Leave the potatoes in the food processor (or on the counter) while you… Crack the eggs into a large bowl and beat them with a fork or a wire whip until they’re fluffy.

LAZY POTATO PANCAKES 3½ cups frozen hash brown potatoes 2 eggs (2 extra large or 3 small) ¼ cup grated onion (or ½ teaspoon onion powder) 1 teaspoon season salt ½ teaspoon black pepper 2 Tablespoons cracker crumbs (matzo meal or flour will also work) 1/8 cup butter (¼ stick, 1 ounce) for frying 1/8 cup good olive oil for frying Toppings for the Table: sour cream applesauce cherry sauce*** blueberry sauce*** apricot sauce***

Place the frozen hash browns in the bowl of a food processor. Use the steel blade, and process with an on-and-off motion until the potatoes are finely chopped. (If you don’t have a food processor, you don’t have to go out and buy one to make these. Just lay your frozen potatoes out on a cutting board in single layers, and chop them up into much smaller pieces with a chef’s knife.) Leave the potatoes in the food processor (or on the counter) while you… Crack the eggs into a large bowl and beat them with a fork or a wire whip until they’re fluffy. Stir in the grated onion (or the onion powder if you decided to use that), and the salt and pepper. Mix in the cracker crumbs. Let the mixture sit on the counter for at least two minutes to give the crumbs time to swell as they soak up the liquid. If you used a food processor, dump the potatoes on a cutting board. (If you used a chef’s knife, they’re already there.) Blot them with a paper towel to get rid of any moisture. Then add them to the mixture in the bowl, and stir them in. If the mixture in your bowl looks watery, add another Tablespoon of cracker crumbs to thicken it. Wait for the cracker crumbs to swell up, and then stir again. If it’s still too watery, add another Tablespoon of cracker crumbs. The resulting mixture should be thick, like cottage cheese. Place the ¼ stick of butter and the 1/8 cup of olive oil in a large nonstick frying pan. (This may be overkill, but I spray the frying pan with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray before I add the butter and olive oil.) Turn the burner on medium-high heat. Once the oil and butter are hot, use a quarter-cup measure to drop in the batter. Don’t try to get all of the batter out of the measuring cup. Your goal is to make 1/8 cup pancakes, and if you don’t scrape out the batter, that’s approximately what you’ll get. Keep the pancakes about two inches apart, and cover the bottom of the frying pan with them. Flatten them very slightly with a spatula so the potatoes spread out and don’t hump up in the middle. Fry the pancakes until they’re lightly browned on the bottom. That should take 2 to 3 minutes. You can tell by lifting one up with a spatula and peeking, but if it’s not brown and you have to do it again, choose another pancake to lift. Once the bottoms of the pancakes are brown, flip them over with your spatula and fry them another 2 to 3 minutes, or until the other side is brown. Lift out the pancakes and drain them on paper towels. Serve hot off the stove if you can, or keep the pancakes warm by placing them in a pan in a warm oven (the lowest temperature that your oven will go) in single layers between sheets of aluminum foil. Serve with your choice of sour cream, applesauce, cherry sauce, blueberry sauce, or apricot sauce. Yield: Approximately 24 small pancakes, depending on pancake size.

PANCAKES 3½ cups frozen hash brown potatoes 2 eggs (2 extra large or 3 small) ¼ cup grated onion (or ½ teaspoon onion powder) 1 teaspoon season salt ½ teaspoon black pepper 2 Tablespoons cracker crumbs (matzo meal or flour will also work) 1/8 cup butter (¼ stick, 1 ounce) for frying 1/8 cup good olive oil for frying Toppings for the Table: sour cream applesauce cherry sauce*** blueberry sauce*** apricot sauce*** Hannah’s 1st Note: Great-Grandma

Red Flannel Hash

The Blue Cow had been a restaurant longer than it’d been a casino; its MONTANA BREAKFAST! SERVED ALL DAY! AS FEATURED IN READER’S DIGEST! consisted of a half pound of bacon, four jumbo eggs, twelve pancakes, three-quarters of a pound of hash browns, a pint of orange juice, and endless coffee—a western epic, well known across the high plains.

Hash Brown Casserole Servings: 10-12   What you need: 32 oz bag of frozen hash browns 8 oz sour cream 10.5 oz cream of mushroom soup ¼ cup finely chopped onion 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese ½ cup butter, melted Salt and pepper, to taste   What to do: Slightly break apart the frozen hash browns. Spray your slow cooker with non-stick spray. In your slow cooker, mix together the hash browns, sour cream, cream of mushroom soup, onion, cheese, and melted butter. Sprinkle the mixture with salt and pepper and cook for 4-5 hours on low.

Even the hash brown section of the Waffle House menu reads like a serial killer-to-do list: "Smothered, covered,diced, and scattered.

couple of grizzly trucker types, an old man reading a paper at the counter, country music in the background. The waitress approached and smiled. “Hi guys. What can I get you?” Cain ordered scrambled eggs, toast, black coffee and pancakes. The driver ordered hash browns and

Liam's hash brown casserole can only be described as so over-the-top ridiculous I fear Paula Deen is sitting somewhere cackling about it. I can tell that there is cheese, butter, and sour cream in there, and do not want to know what else. It is delicious, as are the perfectly dried eggs, crispy bacon, buttery toast, and juicy sausages. The muffins are banana chocolate chip, otherwise known as breakfast cake.

The yolk runs out all over his hash browns. “Conversations about murder are much easier to have when your stomach is full, don’t you think?

Now, suppose that in your process of experimentation, you end up creating a cake that is actually quite small. It’s so small you could sell it as a self-contained, single-serving cake, so you put a little wrapper around it. You realize that you’ve actually made supreme chocolate muffins instead of better chocolate cake. At first it might not seem like this is much of a change. The product hasn’t changed much — it’s the same batter— but almost everything else about your business has. Why? Because we changed the mental frame of reference around the product from “cake” to “muffin.” That change in context changes everything about the business: Target buyers and where you sell. Unlike cakes, muffins are sold at coffee shops and diners. Competitive alternatives. You are now competing with donuts, Danishes and bagels. Pricing and margin. Muffins sell for a buck or two, and you will be looking to sell a lot of them. Key product features and roadmap. You are now fighting for the hearts and minds of a noble class of people who eat chocolate for breakfast. They’re likely not worried about gluten or the origin of the salt in your caramel. They might like your muffin larger or with more caramel or maybe they want it deep-fried like a hash brown (you might be laughing, but deep down I think you want to try one of those).

Waffle House, a staple of the American South, is essentially a greasy yellow coffin. It’s small. It’s boxy. Half the people inside are little more than animated corpses, stuffing their mouths full of hash browns and sausages and the requisite waffles, their bodies bloating and swelling, their hearts dying.

When I got home from school, Mom was asleep on the couch, still wearing her pink scrubs. She'd worked the graveyard shift, something she only had to do once a month or so. Dad had driven me that morning on his way to work, which was awesome because when he drove me, we always pulled through McDonald's for breakfast. Here's what you should know about my parents: they had very opposing ideas of what was good for me. My mom, for instance, would've forced me to eat a bowl of oatmeal with a half a grapefruit or a banana before driving me to school. But my dad, he figured life was too short for stuff like that. So on mornings like that one, we ate our sausage biscuits and hash browns in secret, together, and we had a silent pact that my mother would never find out.

Sheriff?” I asked tightly, turning around to find him less than a foot away. I swallowed. “And what do you want for lunch?” He eyed me for a long moment, then said, “Your double platter of bacon and egg biscuits with a side of hash browns, easy on the salt.” He stepped back, leaning a hip against the edge of the counter as I dug the ingredients out of the fridge. “The questions can wait, just wanted to see how you’re holding up, seeing as you were the one to find her and all.” The sizzle of an egg landing on the griddle was loud as I prepared his meal. “I’m fine.” I reached for another egg. Crack. “Thank you for asking.

When he was alive, Dean had cultivated basically nothing inside or outside the house, and the very sameness of the before/after visited an inarticulable pain on Tessa, the solution of which lay in the smothered hash browns and bottomless coffee mug at the truck-stop Waffle House off 301, the kind anonymity of its eternal, synthetic daylight, and Virgil’s twelve-book origin myth of the Roman Empire.

One of the buffet tables was laden with assorted muffins, scones, bagels, and croissants accompanied by butter, cream cheese, and flavored jams. There was a create-your-own-omelet station and platters of maple sausage, crispy bacon, and hash browns. Quiche lorraine and brioche French toast with mixed berry compote and whipped cream rounded out the breakfast part of the buffet. For those who preferred something other than morning food, there was a second table featuring mixed green salad with pomegranate vinaigrette, grilled salmon, chicken picante, roasted vegetables, rice pilaf, a craving of roast beef, lobster Newburg, and shrimp scampi.

When you reach our age, everyone wants to keep you alive with granola.  Consider this breakfast an act of liberation.  I got greasy egg sandwiches, bacon, and hash browns.

Never, ever bring salad to a post-funeral gathering. I mean the kind with lettuce, of course. For two reasons, 1. It turns brown and reminds people of death when they're already at a funeral, and 2. It's good for you. I can't stress this enough: Healthy food is not comforting. Ever. In fact, in my experience, having healthy food options alongside the hash brown casserole can actually cause anxiety. Acceptable alternatives are a congealed salad with fruit suspended in it, a three-bean salad, or cornbread salad.

We ordered two egg plates that came with hash browns, rye toast and a rasher of bacon for 35¢, along with two bottomless coffees, a nickel a cup.

she was serving up pussy like Waffle House hash browns.

He'll always remember the year his mom made him eggs and hash browns for breakfast," my husband might say sweetly. "Thanks, honey," I'd reply, wondering what on earth would get us out of bed the next year when both the boys were gone.

Potato Bake or Party Potatoes Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position   This is another recipe from Vera Olsen (“Hot Stuff”) who’s engaged to marry Andrew Westcott (“Silver Fox.”)   1/3 cup flour ½ teaspoon baking powder 2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon pepper ½ teaspoon garlic powder ½ teaspoon onion powder ½ teaspoon paprika 4 eggs 1 large grated onion ½ cup melted butter (1 stick, ¼ pound) 5 cups frozen hash browns or frozen Potatoes O’Brien 2 cups grated cheese (any kind will do)   Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan with Pam or other non-stick spray. Mix flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and seasonings in a large bowl with a fork. Add the eggs and whisk it all up. Stir in the onion, melted butter, grated cheese and potatoes. Dump the mixture into the cake pan, cover it with foil, and bake at 350 degrees F. for one hour. Remove foil, turn the oven up to 400 degrees F., and bake for an additional 15 to 30 minutes, or until the top is crusty and golden brown. If you want to make this into what Vera Olsen calls “Party Potatoes,” take the potatoes out of the oven, let them cool for about ten minutes so that the eggs and cheese hold them together, cut them into serving-size squares, (you can get about 12 from a pan,) transfer the squares to a platter, and top each one with a generous dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of caviar (or crumbled bacon for those who don’t like caviar.)

To cook hash browns on a griddle, preheat it to medium-high heat. Spread shredded potatoes evenly and cook until golden brown. What Can You Cook on an Electric Griddle? You can cook pancakes, steak, bacon, french toast, burgers and vegetables. Hash browns are a delightful breakfast staple, loved for their crispy texture and savory flavor. Cooking hash browns on a griddle ensures an even, golden crust that enhances their taste. Start by preheating your griddle to medium-high heat. Use some oil or butter to prevent sticking. Spread the shredded potatoes in a thin, even layer on the griddle. Cook until the edges turn crispy and brown, then flip and repeat. This method shows you that hash browns are perfectly cooked, crunchy on the outside, and tender on the inside. Enjoy them as a side dish or a main breakfast item.

I’m going to get married in an hour? I especially don’t understand how Enzo could get a full breakfast with an omelet and hash browns.