We were breakfasting at the Hotel Shattuck Plaza in Berkeley, CA last week and I noticed this all-American breakfast offered on the menu. I had to have it. Having the eggs cage-free essentially eliminates the problem of having to negotiate your knife and fork between the bars of a cage, which can get especially tricky if the eggs are soft-boiled. The last caged-egg breakfast I had — in Mumbai, I think – I had to go at the suckers with a straw. If you have no choice – if caged-eggs are all that’s offered – I recommend ordering them scrambled with chopsticks.
The artisanal toast was an eye-opener. It was so beautifully toasted I didn’t even want to eat it. It felt like a crime against the muse of toast. I wanted to meet this guy, this artist, this man of fire and dough. I assume it was a guy because the toasting was so muscular, so powerful – I don’t know – it had to be a guy.
We applauded when the waitperson set my breakfast in front of me. Then both she and Jill waited breathlessly while I forked a bit of egg – un-caged, free to imagine! – onto a torn hunk of toasted bread that harkened one back to the ancient toasters, the toasters of Gwnnyll in the Valley of Qwyth.