We rarely go for what we call "American Breakfast" anymore. Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's our evolving taste, maybe it's our shallow pockets, maybe it's our slightly modified diet due to the Food Pimp's exercise regimen. Anyway, one morning we wanted American Breakfast. The FP suggested the Broken Yolk downtown, because he ran by it all the time and it was close. So we went. There were maybe 2 parties waiting when we walked in. But they were both seated at the same time. Then the hostess decided to tally receipts, or close out checks or something. She was very intent on this. She didn't even look up to acknowledge us. So we waited. We were the only party. Then some other people walked in and were waiting behind us. Finally, a server came and seated us. Then, the hostess seated the people behind us!
So, we had coffee. It sucked. But, you know, it's like a diner with a newer image. It's a cooler Denny's basically. And the hilarious thing, is that we didn't really want to drink it. But every five minutes one waiter come around with a carafe and ask if we wanted more. We would say no. Then a minute later, the other waiter doing the coffee rounds would ask if we wanted coffee. I swear this happened 3 times! I think at one point I said yes so that I would have coffee in my cup and they wouldn't ask me.
So the FP got the corned beef hash, of course. It was the canned stuff with the potatoes already in it. I know, a lot of places use this stuff. Fine. But add some stuff to it, something. Hot sauce, worcestershire, green onions. And then cook it properly. You gotta slap it down on the hot grill in a thin layer and then let it crisp up. And then you do the other side too. So this corned beef, they might have done that, but then it didn't slide onto the plate in one sheet. It was kind of chopped up and then put on, with the pinky middle all mixed up with the crisp outside. Now, this may seem kind of OCD, but there is a difference if the crust is broken and chopped up. You just want to dig in to the pink part, but personally, I don't want it too pink, that's why I like a thin thin layer on the grill! So anyway, the textures in your mouth are kind of yucky when it's presented like this. The eggs were nicely cooked at least. As for the home fries - they were pretty much executed the same way as the corned beef. Crispy bits mixed in with borderline raw bits.
Bacon that I got. Too pink. I like darker crispy shit. At the breakfast place I worked at, people were fanatic about their bacon - they would ask for it burnt. It would be pretty damn burnt, and they liked it like that. I think microwaves were made to cook bacon. They make it perfect. You wrap it in paper towels and nuke it. Or maybe you have one of those microwave bacon racks. I've never tried those. I don't eat that much bacon.
Blueberry pancakes. They were...kinda passable. Well, I was hungry. Blueberry pancakes are tricky. You really don't want to put too many blueberries in, because they make the pancake watery and mushy. The best would be to put a few fresh ones in a minute before you flip it. But most places probably use frozen ones, so you probably put them in sooner, and then the water leaches out, making it mushy. But I should know better than to order blueberry pancakes. They are often disappointing. I should go for the plain ones with fruit topping.
So we ate, then we wanted to get the fuck out of there. We had our check but we had to pay up front. So we went up to the hostess area. She was on the phone. Not acknowledging us. Looking in the corner or at the register again. For a while. A few minutes. Jabbering away. No, just one minute, no glance in our direction. Finally, after ages, she hangs up. Then it takes a few beats for her to help us. It's like she wants us to know that we, with our check, and my camera, and my little food blog are insignificant to her. She doesn't care if we are in her life or not. We are just like the little mites that reside on her body to eat dead skin cells. She may or may not know that they are there, and that they are beneficial to her, but of no consequence to her daily life. She didn't care that maybe the longer she ignored us, the less tip we would be leaving. So, it's not like I left a horrible tip, just not 20% which is usually standard for mediocre service. So I'm gonna give the Broken Yolk \ one chopstick for the eggs. After all a place that is called the Broken Yolk should make nice eggs, right?