There’s something about a giant stack of waffles topped with butter, powdered sugar, and maple syrup that puts me in an un-fightable, resistance resistant, afternoon coma.  That really… and I mean reeeeaaalllyyy pisses off the workaholic in me.  She hates napping.  The waffle-aholic in me?  Well… obviously she thinks her workaholic counterpart should just chill  the heck out.

I’ve tried to appease both sides of my w-aholics… and it’s not about trading waffles for spelt toast.  No…  that just can’t happen.

Switch up the waffle!  Make it a savory dream!  Top it with salsa and an egg!  This way my waffle-aholic self gets all of her warm waffle goodness. and my workaholic self doesn’t need a resentful nap.  Take note.

Please tell the waffle-aholic within you that this dish is supreme for either breakfast or dinner.

Savory waffles are IT!

Here’s what you’ll need:

A waffle iron.  I know… I know… what a pain.  There’s really no other way to make waffles though.  Perhaps you could turn this dish into savory pancakes… but it’s not quite the same.  Waffle iron.  It’s a splurge!!

Cornmeal gives these waffles a really wonderful crunch.  I used a more coarse cornmeal.  Bite!

Chives and parsley kick up the flavor of these waffles. Subtle onion and herb.  It’s perfect.

Black pepper!  Coarse and generous.

Salsa and eggs!  Cook up and egg and top it off with salsa.

With these few ingredients, I swear you’ll feel like you’re doing everything right.

This batter is beautifully thick and subtly flavored.

Cornmeal and scallions mysteriously take things from ok to uh-mazing.

You might choose, as I did, to enjoy these waffles with a friend, on a front porch, under a gloomy grey sky, on a slightly chilly weekend morning.

Or!  Or or or… you could plop down in from of the television and watch reruns of Law and Order SVU.

OR!  You could eat them standing in your kitchen, trying to get your cat to stop sticking his face in the open waffle iron.

I usually opt for the later option.  That’s just how I choose to live… or something.

I’m not sure I’ve eaten anything this weekend.

Well… I’m not sure I’ve eaten anything beyond chips, gummy bears, coffee, and gin.

I definitely didn’t eat this gorgeous breakfast pizza.

Really, it’s no one’s fault but my own.

There was arugula on this breakfast pizza.

Ps.  That totes makes this vegetables for breakfast.  Get into it!

You’ve seen the small picture.

Now… here’s the BIG picture.

Cooking with friends.  And cheese.  And cameras.

Can I tell you why I made a breakfast pizza and ate gummy bears and drank gin?

Tracy and I, along with a bunch of other people from Homefries threw a weekend retreat in Palm Springs.

It was major.  Thirty of us hung out, ate Tracy’s salad, had cookies and milk, painted our nails.

People took pictures of me taking pictures of pizza.

It was totally meta.

We talked about photography.  We cooked brunch together.  We made friendship bracelets.  We learned about wine.  We drank gin.  We learned things about each other.

Ps.  If you’re not hip on Homefries, get on this.  We’ll be throwing another retreat in the Spring.  Real.

This about sums up the weekend.

Yea.  Welcome to this.

Laughs and breakfast pizza.  All dang weekend.

Dear The French Laundry,

How did a humble baker girl like me end up at a fine establishment such as yours?  Seriously.  Breathtaking.  How did this happen?

Ok… truth be told, my friend Tracy extended a last minute invite, I basically ran to my car in my slippers, a dress on a hanger flying behind me, and I sped from Los Angeles to Yountville in a cool 7 hours.  I forgot my lipstick.  Thank you for not judging.

Is it The French Laundry, or can I just call you French Laundry?

We’re on a first name basis, right?  Good.  Thank you.

French Laundry.  You are Fancy.  Capital F, Fancy.

… I can tell by the generous amount of gorgeous Thomas Keller flatware, delicious amount of caviar, and generous amount of champagne.

You brought me this tiny pearled spoon scoop and I thought about accidentally putting it in my purse for 3.45 seconds.  It’s a good thing I remembered that I don’t steal things.  I love that little scooper.  Well played.

You have salts from all over the world.  One of these is from the deep ocean, one of them is a French grey salt, one of them is a 40 million year old salt from Montana.  Wait… did you say 40 million years old?  Is Montana even that old?  I believe you.. mostly because you serve your salt in a swan.

I’m humbled by your salt choices.  Truly.  So delicious.  So delicate.  Refined.  So much refinement.

French Laundry, your Cold Corn Soup almost made me cry.  You brought giant truffles out in a dehumidified box.  Whoah!  You served me Lobster Mitts…. I didn’t even know that was a thing!  Lamb with pine nut vinaigrette?  I love you.  Every bite was entirely humbling.  I mean that most sincerely.

You did a thing to me… I think it was called Caramelia Chocolate “Cremeux”.  Don’t judge me for only being able to pronounce one of those words correctly.

Chocolate mousse, caramel corn, Georgia peanuts, ridiculous banana puree, and and and and Salted Popcorn Ice Cream.  It was the best dessert to ever happen to my mouth.  I thank you.  My heart thanks you.

The thing is, French Laundry… the thing is this:  you’re fancy… to be sure…  but you and your staff have a way about you.  You somehow make ultra fine dining feel like an intimate home dining experience.  You make the most delicious, perfectly executed food taste like mind blowing home cooking.  I mean  that with the most respect possible.

Your food tastes like community.  It tastes like love and pride.  It taste like dedication, education, and attention.  It tastes like knowledge and technique… and it tastes like you love your grandmothers.  It is everything that is good, brought to its highest potential.  Inspired.  I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know… but you blew my mind.

Would now be a good time to mention that we wrote ‘booyakah’ in your guestbook?

Yea… that happened.

Oh!  We also took a picture outside in the dark.  Tracy was holding her lightsaber.  Totally normal.  Nevermind.

Thank you, French Laundry.  That sounds trite, but I mean it from deep down inside.

Love,

Joy

Ps. Please don’t show your pastry chef these cookies.  Seriously.  They’re no biggie.  Like… seriously.

Sigh.

Back to real life.

Back to my boring old cookies.

Light, crisp, and delicious meringues.

Egg whites are whipped with granulated sugar, salt, and lemon juice until they’re stiff and glossy.

Then we fold in ground, toasted almonds, and cornstarch.

Humble… but I like where this is going!

It’s like nutty marshmallow fluff!

I’m into it.

These cookies can either be piped or spooned onto the cookie sheet.

Keep them close on the baking sheet because they don’t spread.  Easy!

Top with powdered sugar and sliced almonds.  Generous.  We like generosity.

These cookies were a gift to Tracy, to say thanks for French Laundry invite.

Packaging is key when you’re dealing with Tracy, so I tried to keep it cute.

Oh!  And I had to write a note… even if it got awkward. Note paper from Anthropologie.

My produce dude at Whole Foods might know me just as well as some of my closest friends.  We’ve built quite the relationship.

Yea.. he’s MY produce dude.  Miguel gets to work at 4am.

He’s in the produce restocking business… and he has to get his ducks in a row before 7am rolls around, and the store opens.

I saunter in around 7:30am.  I generally have ridiculous bedhead, sunglasses on indoors, a scarf wrapped around my head, and lip gloss… always lip gloss.  Miguel has seen some truly unfortunate morning fashion choices.  Maybe he judges.  If so, at least he does so with kind eyes.

Maybe I look like one of those dishevelled,  incognito super famous people… except that I’m not at all.

Miguel always greets me.  We talk about what I’m about to cook.  He picks up an apple and slices it for me to sample.  He tells me about how many beers he is going to drink when he gets off of work, and what he’s going to do with his family over the weekend.  That’s about as much conversation as I can muster at such an early hour.

I think he and I have high-fived once.  I initiated it… surely it was awkward.

He gave me a smushed avocado once, and I acted like he was giving me a brick of gold.  Also awkward.

I wonder what Miguel is doing right now.

Probably stacking potatoes and chatting up the girl that does her produce shopping everyday at 10:30am.  She probably likes apple slices too.

Hm… she’s probably more chatty and less awkward.  But I’m probably cuter.

And yes… I’m totally comparing myself to a fictional girl I just made up in my head.  Whatevs.  I’m over it.

I’ll tell you what.

Tomorrow morning I’d like you to saute some peppers, onions, and a bit of garlic.  If nothing else… just do this.  If you’re single, your neighbor will probably knock on your door and ask you to marry him/her.  It smells good… that’s why.

In this hash you’ll find sauteed peppers, onions, and garlic.

There’s also roasted potatoes, sauteed sausage (I used veggie sausage), and fennel seeds.

So delicious!  So fragrant.  Big, yummy breakfast food.

Once all of the hash ingredients are pan fried and roasted, I tossed the warm hash with a few handfuls of fresh spinach.  The warm hash will slightly wilt the greens.  Topped with fried eggs… I mean, come on!  Share this breakfast with someone.

Take the scarf off your head… and be a normal person for once.

Ok.  That last sentence was totally just for me.

Enjoy with coffee.  Eat a second helping.  Take your vitamins.

You know that feeling….

When you’re on a brunch date, you arrive at a restaurant, and the hostess tells you that the wait is going to be 20 minutes…

And you think aloud to your date…’ok, great… let’s take a quick stroll around the block’… and you two take a quick stroll around the block.

It’s sunny and it’s Sunday and everything seems lovely…

Until you get back from your 18 minute stroll and check in with the hostess to find out that your wait time has increased in your absence… to like… an hour!!!

And your heart sinks.  And you want coffee.  And you really want some eggs.  And your kinda want to kick the hostess in the knee cap.

But you’re with a date.  You’re with a brunch date…. so you just sit with it.  You just sit with the wait time.  And you don’t complain.  And you try not to think about coffee.  And you try not to glare at the patrons already enjoying their eggs… those jerks.  And you just wait.  And wait.  And wait.

And then your brunch date finds the random rogue hair that sometimes grows out of your chin.  You call it your old lady hair.  And you’re usually really good about plucking your one old lady hair… but you misplaced your tweezers and your old lady hair got out of control… And you’ve waited so long for breakfast that your date has taken to intently staring at your face and has spotted your old lady hair…

And now you have to have a really awkward conversation about your old lady hair and all you want to do is dig a whole in the ground and crawl into it… And you curse that stupid hostess (who probably isn’t that stupid) for making you wait for your eggs so long that your old lady hair has been spotted.

DANGIT!

And you keep your hand on your chin for the rest of the date.

You know that feeling?  Yea… me too.

Let’s avoid that this weekend.  Make brunch for someone.

And keep your rogue old lady chin hair in check.  For your health.  For your dating health.

I can not believe I just told you about my rogue old lady chin hair.

This is totally embarrassing.

Perhaps I can distract you with these Cornmeal Molasses Pancakes.  They were really tasty.

This Crustless Quiche had spinach and blue cheese and walnuts.

How’s that for fancy!?

I want to marry these cinnamon rolls.  I already have the dress.

…. Stop looking at me like that.

There’s cream cheese!  In the cinnamon rolls!

Wait… did that picture of cinnamon rolls make you feel fat?

Me too.

Have a smoothie.  I’m going to.

And while we’re in the kitchen making that smoothie… how about some 30 Minute Croissants?

There go our healthy thoughts… right out the window again.

Hm…

You might consider turning these Cheddar Black Pepper Biscuits into egg sandwiches.

That’s a good idea.

It’s up to you.

Get your brunch on… but don’t you dare wait in line for it.

It’s Friday.  I know you weren’t expecting this, but it’s time for a Pop Quiz.

Don’t worry.  If you’ve done the reading this should be easy… (I hated when teachers would say that to me).

Pop Quiz

1) True or False: The joining of chocolate and coffee is like a cosmic combination of all that is good, just, and rock and roll in the universe.

2) Fill in the Blank: Breakfast is the most _________________ .

3)  Multiple Choice: The best choice for this weekend’s breakfast treat is:

a) stale Cheerios.

b) Gerard Butler and hot fudge sauce.

c) breakfast sandwiches made on Cheddar Black Pepper Biscuits.

Now… here are the answers:

1)  True….. duh!  2) Breakfast is the most important meal that ever was.  3) c… if and only if b is unavailable.

Perfect score?  We’re best friends.  Take note.

Breakfast.  Be still my heart.  I love you breakfast.

The combination of cheddar with buttery biscuits is divine.  Add a little kick of black pepper and holy yum!  These biscuits are made with both all-purpose and whole wheat flour.  I like the nuttiness of whole wheat flour.  Now you know.  The combination results in a dense but buttery and delicious biscuit.  They’re the perfect holder of turkey bacon and a fried egg.  Make a sandwich.  Dooooo it!

These eggs aren’t the only thing that’s scrambled.  

My brains…. also pretty scrambled right now.  

As far as I see it, there are two solutions to the scrambled brain mess that I’ve got going on inside my head right now: a whole weekend worth of sleep or a bag of fun size Snickers bars.  

Aaaand Snickers it is… but first, let me show you what I eat morning, noon and night:  scrambled eggs.  

Are you picky about how you cook your eggs?  Maybe a little?  That’s no crime… everyone likes their eggs a different way.  I’m more of a dry scramble kind of girl.  Here’s my step-by-step guide to eggs for one.  

Start with good quality eggs.  Fresh medium or large eggs from the farmer’s market are mighty fine.  

 Break three eggs into a bowl. 

Beat eggs lightly with a fork.  

Melt just over a tablespoon of butter in a pan over low heat.  Add eggs and stir eggs immediately and constantly with a wooden spoon.  

It may take 3 to 4 minutes for the eggs to become just set but still creamy.  At this point add a scant tablespoon of heavy cream,  a small pat of butter and a generous pinch of salt.  Continue to stir.

When eggs are scrambled to your liking, remove from the pan, top with a touch more salt and fresh ground pepper, and serve with buttered toast.  I garnished my eggs with nasturtium petals (they’re pretty), but chives are also lovely.

((Yes… I just wrote a post about scrambled eggs.  That just happened.))

I’m not sure exactly how to say this, so I’m just going to go ahead and put it out there.

For the first time in…. ever… I had fun at a baby shower.   Real time, legitimate good times at a baby shower.  I wasn’t even faking it, not even a little bit.

I’m going to stand by what may be an unpopular position.  In the past I’ve found most baby showers I’ve had to attend, a troubling combination of boring and humiliating.  Between standing around listening to various labor horror stories and playing disgusting baby games that involve Tootsie Rolls and diapers, I typically just barely manage a fake smile.

This weekend’s baby shower was different.  My friends Mitch and Lara got together, got married, and made another human that Lara is currently growing in her belly.  These people are filled with hilarity, and an uncommon and humble goodness.  Watching them open their baby gifts with grace and a downright speedy efficiency (thanks!), I couldn’t help but imagine their little girl filling the onesies, hats and socks they received.  While it may sound silly, the reality of this impending life became more lovely and amazing as each gift was opened.

That I may or may not have been able to cheat at one of the baby team relay games has very little to do with me having a great time at the shower.  Don’t press me on this.  Please.

Now, without a well-crafted transition, I bring you Crustless But Still Dang Good Quiche.

Yes, I think the best part of a slice of quiche is the crust.  Yes, I still made this quiche without crust.  Sometimes crust, with all of its cutting butter and dusting and rolling pins, seem just a little too daunting for my late morning weekend breakfast.  It turns out, if you slather the pie plate with butter, the quiche will bake up beautifully and when sliced, jump out of the dish with no problem.

I used a combination of spinach, mushroom, walnuts and blue cheese in this quiche.  Feel free to play around with any ingredients you might have on hand.  Next time I make this, I’m going to stay away from blue cheese.  The flavor almost took over the whole quiche.  I think a nice cheddar or gruyere would work better.

My Mom used to crawl in the bed at night, after a long day of being a mail carrier, a wife and mother and exclaim “Best part of the day!” just before she drifted off to sleep.  To her,  it seemed like there was no greater reward that peaceful rest at the end of the day.

As a kid, I had a hard time relating to my Mom’s Ode to Bedtime.  I was sure that I could have, at the very least, squeezed one more episode of The Cosby Show into my night.  Nope.  Bedtime was bedtime, not because there were overly strict bedtime rules, but because my Mom was just dog tired.

Nowadays I feel like I have a better understanding of my Mom’s nighttime sentiments.  My head hits the pillow after a long day and I’m asleep before I can even turn the bedside lamp off… and I don’t even have little kids yet!

You were right Momma.  Sometimes crawling under the covers is the best part of the day.

Other times, quiche is the best part of the day.  True.

In exciting, not sleepy or quiche related news:  my Mom, after over 30 years of delivering mail, retires from the Post Office… today!  Holy heck Mom!  Way to go!  Thanks for working hard for the family all those years.   I couldn’t be happier for you.  I hope you find a new “best part of the day”.  For reals, I love you Mom!

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.  Moms are important.  I have a good one.

Speaking of good.  Um… I should warn you about this quiche.  It’s not good.  It’s so crazy great you might hurt yourself!  Truly.  Between the puff pastry, bacon, creme fraiche and Gruyere, this quiche just about made me cry.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This list of things that I’ve stolen in my life is pretty small.

There was that piece of candy that I stole from Fedco when I was 7. My Dad caught me chomping on it in the back seat of the car and I got the big morality talk. Lesson: never steal anything too chewy.

There were the Girl Scout cookies I stole from my big sister’s room when she was out on a secret date. I was the natural suspect. I got a good talking to for that one. When I pulled the same cookie thievery the next week, well…. my parents made sure I learned my lesson that time.

Then there were all the times I would sneak into my Mom’s secret chocolate stashes. My Mom’s hiding places were no match for my ability to find a stool and wiggle my way around cabinets looking for sweets.

Thinking back on it, my thievery always involved something delicious that I wanted to put in my tummy. I was pathetically predictable in that sense.

I was once again tempted by the thievery gods this weekend while walking around my neighborhood. There’s citrus EVERYWHERE. Just about every other yard has a blooming orange or lemon tree just begging to be plucked. Isn’t sneaking into someones yard to yank their produce considered theft? I thought back to all of the stern reprimands and spankings I got from stealing yummies as a kid and thought better of sneaking into my neighbor’s yard.

Instead, I forked over some cash at the farmer’s market and felt just fine about making this Honey- Lime Curd.

Does this sort of concession mean my bad girl days are long gone? Sigh….