Put An Egg On It
Much like the now famous “Put a bird on it” Portlandiaism, for some time barnyardy chefs have been fond of putting fried eggs on just about everything. I am not opposed to this flourish in all its permutations.
And for no reason whatsoever, while entertaining Portlanders over the past eight days I consumed an unusual amount of eggs—from devilled eggs at Dinosaur BBQ where we were accidentally brought two servings to the monte cristo at Savoia, which was really an Italian eggs benedict.
Of course contemporary chefs don’t own eggs as garnish. At Bay Ridge’s Schnitzel Haus where entrees easily contain a full pound of meat, they serve a classic leberkäse, a veal and pork bologna loaf that is grilled and topped with fried eggs and surrounded by mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. With freshly cooked eggs, I made two breakfast servings this morning and there is still enough loaf remaining for multiple meals. Happy Easter, if I can stomach it.
After two visits to Little Italy’s Ferrara, I suggested my mom visit a non-touristy Italian bakery frequented by locals. Caputo’s brusque, “Who’s next? I said who’s next?!” chaos on their “busiest day of the year” according to one brassy counter woman, certainly provided that bit of Brooklyn charm lacking on Grand Street. No time for questions or leisurely skimming the glass case, my mom chose four of the sweet rolls baked around a hard boiled egg and topped with rainbow sprinkles.
I know I never encountered Italian Easter bread in Portland. And maybe it was new for the security at JFK, as well. Apparently, the holiday goods prompted a step-aside bag search when the visitors were heading back to the west coast. The damage on this particular roll was done by me, ripping apart wildly before photographing.
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