Fried Eggs on Toast

That visible sizzle on the edges?  That's butter.

This weekend was all about getting acquainted with my new apartment, especially the kitchen, deck, and back yard.  I am a little bit in love with this new place.  It has so much character, and it already feels homey, even though we don't have a couch and the living room and second bedroom are filled with boxes.  It takes three keys to get in, because there are three doors in the front.  We have a private entryway, which I know I will appreciate in a whole new way in the winter when our gigantic, ugly boots are caked with salt and snow and need a separate place to live.  It's OK, boots.  You can live in the entryway. 

Not surprisingly, my favorite place in the apartment is the kitchen.  It's in the back, and it is huge.  There was an abandoned kitchen table in the basement that we were told we could have, and it fits right in the middle.  Above the cupboards are these airy gallery spaces that are lit with little spotlights.  There's a back door that opens onto a deck, which I can't wait to decorate with lanterns and lights.  Every single meal that I have eaten at home since we moved in has been out on the deck.  Then there's a little yard that gets tons of sun.  All day on Saturday, as I was setting up the kitchen, I kept peeping out the door to note where the sun was shining, and I can say with near-certainty that tomatoes will be very, very happy back there.  (Here I pause to daydream about juicy, fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes...)

The first meals I'm cooking in this kitchen have a weightiness about them.  They feel like an audition, like a first date.  Sunday morning, I woke up and walked into the kitchen, where my shiny sink smiled brightly at me, and I thought about what to make for breakfast.  Muffins, I thought.  I had a muffin last week with oatmeal, carrots, and raisins, and I wanted to try to recreate it.  Then I remembered I ran out of raisins before we moved.  Also, I was pretty hungry, and not feeling ready to use the oven.  That feels like a second or third date kind of meal.  So I settled on a simple stovetop breakfast: Fried Eggs on Toast. 



Right this way to deck and yard paradise!


This is the ultimate simple meal, and with a big cup of fresh coffee, it was exactly what I wanted on Sunday morning, to take out on the deck and eat while reading A Homemade Life, by Molly Wizenberg. Molly writes the blog Orangette, which is one of my favorites.  I love the way she writes.  She is a fellow food-loving redhead, and as I read I feel that she is a kindred spirit.   Like this quote, from the chapter "Summer of Change":

"At the end of the day, when I was exhausted and fed up and unsure of everything, food was a certainty.  It was what I thought about, what I cared about, what I wrote about, what got me out of bed in the morning.  (I mean that.  I get up for the sole purpose of eating breakfast.  I don't know why else you would.)"

Me either.

My Dad got me that mug for Christmas.  He rocks.

Fried Eggs on Toast

As many eggs and slices of toast as there are people.
Butter, salt, and pepper.

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium heat and add the butter (just shy of a tablespoon per egg, don't be stingy), tilting the pan to melt and distribute.  Crack an egg and place it gently in the pan, so the white doesn't spread out too much.  Repeat with remaining eggs.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Depending on how well-done you like your eggs, fry for 1-2 minutes per side.  I like them over medium on toast, because the yolk is still a little runny, but not so runny that it makes a mess (and you don't get to eat it unless you want to lick the plate).  Put each egg on a slice of toast, and serve with apple slices, strong coffee, and a good book.

Book Review: Dirty Dishes

Dirty Dishes: A Restaurateur's Story of Passion, Pain, and Pasta

by Pino Luongo and Andrew Friedman. 

I came across this book as I was looking for restaurants to visit on a recent trip to New York City.  AFter reading great things about Pino's restaurant, Centolire, on the Upper East Side, I decided I had to try it.  My plan had been to go there for lunch in the middle of a day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I didn't make it to the museum, sadly, but I decided to make a special trip to the restaurant anyway.  I love the fact that, even though it's in a supremely ritzy and overpriced area, Centolire Cafe & Panini remains a little lunch spot where you can get an inexpensive, absolutely delicious bite to eat.  Someday I'll go back and eat in the mama restaurant for dinner, but this was a great first taste.

Later I learned that there's a restaurant in Chicago called Coco Pazzo that was started by Pino, too!  Our third wedding anniversary is coming up, and I bet you can guess where we'll be!

Pino's story is engaging and evocative.  He begins by describing his early life in Tuscany, and how he discovered his love of food in his mother's kitchen and honed his instincts in his uncle's restaurant.  I couldn't help but be enveloped in the world of memory he created through describing the smells and flavors of his childhood.  He then recounts his burgeoning acting career, followed by a very reluctant emigration to New York, where he found that the only place he could go to escape his homesickness was in a restaurant where the smells and tastes of home were recreated.  He then makes the astonishing journey from a busboy who barely speaks two words of English, to a New York restaurant mogul, and then to a family man with one successful restaurant, happy to admit that it was all for love of cooking.  I was transported.  And I can't wait to expand my own repertoire to include some of the traditional Italian dishes that were described so lovingly throughout the book: pappa al pomodoro, pasta carbonara, traditional bolognese, rigatoni alla buttera, and spaghetti alle vongole (assuming I can find some dang vongole...).

Some of my favorite passages:

"Má never worked in a professional kitchen, but by the time she became a parent, cooking was such an extension and reflection of her life, it became a natural means of self-expression, right down to how she demonstrated her love for her children." 

"We'd bust the melons open on our knees, stick our heads inside, and devour the sugary flesh, emerging with devilish smiles and dripping-wet faces.  After we had our fill, we'd stage a watermelon war, logging the orbs at each other in the dark until we were covered from head to toe with juice.  Then we'd hop on our scooters and disappear up into the hills to the east, toward Saturnia, where there were warm sulfuric waterfalls.  We'd let the spa water cleanse our clothes and skin, then collapse in the grass and stare up at the moon and stars until we fell asleep."

"You can only be told so much about pasta.  If you want to understand and master it, you need to immerse yourself in it until you've absorbed it and it's become a part of you, like that perfect, elusive coming together of pasta and sauce."

Check out his restaurant, books, and more about Pino at http://www.pinoluongo.com/.  Have a great weekend!