Big Surf’s Poached Egg and Zhug with Spinach and Artichoke on Toast

I’m strong to the finich ’cause I eats me spinach—Popeye

When Daphne responded to George Costanza’s query about her eggs with “Eggs are eggs”, I cringed at this particular Seinfeldism. I, for one, value the importance of this often, taken for granted, ovate protein source. As stated in previous writings (that sounds so pretentious doesn’t it?), I love eggs and I am always trying to elevate the taste of them.

If I say the egg is my “muse”, does that mean I have to be artistic? No one has ever accused me of this. It is safe to say I will never cut off my ear if I break a yolk.

This past Friday morning, there was a smidgeon of something resembling a creative spark deep within me that was crying to see the light of the range hood. So the dish above was created.

I’m sure some of you will turn your nose up at this, but it really was a tasteful breakfast dish. If you can get past some of the biases that imprison your morning food choices, you may find this worthy of an occasional alternate start to your day.

This started with some delicious sourdough bread my blue-eyed darlin’ baked. It makes for a delicious toast canvas for my masterpiece. I spread some zhug (https://eat-with-big-surf.blog/2023/11/18/zhug-zhoug-sahawiq-schug-skug-mabooj/) on the toast. I sauteed some spinach with some store-bought marinated, grilled artichoke halves. I topped with a poached egg, salt and pepper.

Now Mrs. Big Surf and I loved the dish, though the missus felt like I used too much zhug and it overpowered her taste buds. I was surprised by this and when I verbalized my surprise, she said, “Your eyeballs are sweating”.

So the moral here is to know your audience. Based on a small sample size, the zhug can be a bit overwhelming to German and Irish palates, so go easy on this Yemeni originated condiment.

Show a little restraint like Van Gogh. He only cut off part of his ear.

Jaques Pépin’s Eggs Jeanette

You can’t escape the taste of the food you had as a child. In times of stress, what do you dream about as a child? Your mother’s clam chowder. It’s security, comfort. It brings you home—Jacques Pépin

I have a kindred connection with Jacques Pépin. He loves eggs. I love eggs. So who better to search on YouTube this Saturday morning than Jacques himself?

I found an old PBS clip of “American Masters at Home” and he was cooking a dish that he ate as a child prepared by his mére (mother). This is my clumsy attempt to duplicate that dish for Mrs. Big Surf and myself on this rainy Indiana morning.

Now I can eat eggs cooked almost anyway with almost anything. The blue-eyed darlin’ not so much. In fact it was presented to me earlier this year that she doesn’t always like the way I have prepared some breakfast eggs, but she ate them and didn’t complain because…you know…I fixed breakfast for her and she didn’t have to.

There is a question asked of Julia Roberts’ character in “Runaway Bride”, “How do you like your eggs?”. Now after some thirty-six plus years of marriage, Mrs. Big Surf finally let me know. And you can see how each new egg dish is prepared with a little gun-shyness.

THIS MORNING WAS A SUCCESS!!

We both enjoyed this dish. The tastes were there even if the techniques were a bit clunky. The big questions in preparing this dish the first time, and maybe some of you can answer this question. Is there a difference in times of boiling a small egg vs. a large egg? We didn’t cover this in high school or college physics. The thermodynamic properties of the egg may be different than copper.

Also peeling an egg always is an adventure for me. My advice is to watch this video and not listen to my kitchen consternations.

This dish has garlic, fresh parsley, eggs, milk, water, olive oil, dijon mustard, salt and pepper, and a little red wine vinegar.

Listen to Jacques Pépin’s tribute to his mother, Jeanette…he’s such a good egg.

Mokka and the Sunset Bar and Grill in Newport, KY

Goetta is somewhat of a mystery—Paul Tenkotee

Somedays turn into wonderful days when you aren’t expecting it, when the Almighty Creator gives us a glimpse of His Mercy in the midst of chaos and angst.

Today was one of those days and it came as a revelation to me at Mokka in Newport, KY on a revitalized Monmouth Street across the Ohio River from Cincinnati, over a delicious goetta frittata.

Let’s go back a few days. Cue the harp glissando…

Mrs. Big Surf and I have been in the midst of selling a house in one state and remodeling a house in another state. I am counting down to retirement, she will begin a new job. We have just been through losing parents, cleaning out houses of memories, trying to get someone to take over my business, and just recently dealing with a beloved family member going through a medical crisis, which brought us unexpectedly to Cincinnati.

My lovely missus spent a sleepless night to be with this loved one in a busy hospital room. We were both exhausted from the previous weeks, she much more than I.

We left the hospital late in the morning to eat breakfast before heading out on the two and a half hour drive home. We settled in a booth in the above mentioned Mokka in Newport.

We started with a spicy Newport Bloody Mary for me and a raspberry Mimosa for the sleep-deprived darlin’. Now I don’t advocate any alcoholic beverage before noon but we were celebrating the incredible answered prayers on behalf of our loved one and her improved condition overnight.

Our meal was so good.

The goetta frittata was just what I needed. She had a platter of French toast topped with creme brûlée cream, a biscuit and gravy, and cheesy scrambled eggs, and to my surprise she consumed it all…who’s the big girl?!

Now I realize most folks who aren’t from the Cincinnati/Northern KY area haven’t a clue about goetta.

Goetta came from peasant German immigrants who settled in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. It was a way to make meat, usually pork sausage, last longer by mixing it with oats, onion, and spices. It is cooked and dried and formed into a loaf for slicing. It has the consistency of sausage and is usually fried crispy.

This morning as I sat in that charming cafe, across from my lovely wife of 36 years, both of us in the same clothes we put on yesterday, neither one of us had showered, me unshaven, and her without makeup, I knew what Sheldon Cooper meant when he said,”The Germans are such a comforting people.”

This spicy Newport Bloody Mary is one of the best I have ever had.

This plate of a Goetta Frittata with breakfast potatoes reminded me of the comforting pleasures God allows on this earth.

Mrs. Big Surf in a rare eating frenzy consumed this plate of delicious breakfasness.