While brunch is basically a gay sacrament and thus something of a big deal in DC, there are times when breakfast is called for instead. Smaller, mellower, less boozy, and–oh yes–earlier, breakfast it not a meal I’m frequently involved with, unless you count a few bites of something leftover straight from the fridge while I’m trying to tie my tie in the still-dark of morning. Saturday, however, we had need of a breakfast, not a brunch.
A dear friend was swooping through town, and first thing on Saturday morning was the only place we elbow our way onto her dance card as she was in DC for only a day and a half. So, breakfast it was, and what better breakfast than scrambled eggs? Of course, not just any scrambled eggs, perfect ones, tossed with a vibrant mix of earthy mushrooms, pungent garlic scapes, and verdant asparagus. And since said friend was coming from six porkless months in Cairo, bacon. A big heap o’ bacon. Also, coffee, challah toast, and a pretty yogurt berry granola parfait. Perfect!
Of course, this means we need to discuss the proper approach to scrambled eggs. We want to avoid, at all costs, those buffet-bound, bouncy yellow clods swimming sadly in a steam tray of their own tears. Those are not scrambled eggs; those are nuggets of sofa cushion. Ech. Well-made scrambled eggs are a creamy mass with small, barely noticable curds that stays all together in a hot, silken heap till they’re eaten–which shouldn’t be long at all.