Bursey’s Break­fast in Bed

The Southern Gazette - - EDITORIAL -

It’s cliché th­ese days to hear a morn­ing per­son cheer­fully chirp about how break­fast is the most im­por­tant meal of the day.

This dude (like most of us) may be the fur­thest thing from a morn­ing per­son, but I do have a pas­sion for break­fast.

I usu­ally wake up in the morn­ing after five smart­phone alarms and an an­gry growl of ac­cep­tance. The only ex­cep­tions to this are the morn­ings in which I hap­pened to wake up next to some­one spe­cial, in which case I’d wake up happy and she would most likely be wak­ing up to break­fast in bed.

It was on one such oc­ca­sion in the dead of win­ter that I awoke to the cutest snor­ing (if in­deed snor­ing can be con­sid­ered cute) I ever heard.

I smiled in­stead of growled and after check­ing the time and see­ing it was only 7 a.m.(ish), I stretched, got up, got dressed, washed up and hur­ried to the kitchen to make my stan­dard morn­ing sur­prise be­fore Sleep­ing Beauty arose.

By then I knew her ba­sic break­fast favourites. She liked her ba­con cooked crispy and her eggs over-easy. She loved a piece of fruit with her break­fast, es­pe­cially or­anges slices with yogurt on the side to dip them in.

She also had to have a mug of hot Red Rose tea with two su­gars and three milk swirls in lieu of the black cof­fee, which was my es­sen­tial morn­ing jump­start.

More than any of th­ese though, she loved my omelettes.

Cre­atively, omelettes are amaz­ing. They can be stuffed with an in­nu­mer­able va­ri­ety of in­gre­di­ents and there­fore pro­vide a cor­nu­copia of unique com­bi­na­tions that al­low the in­ven­tive mind of the break­fast cook a land­scape of creative free range to frolic in.

While many peo­ple do con­sider omelettes to be tricky to make, when done prop­erly they can be sur­pris­ingly easy. With time, your skill at mak­ing them can only in­crease. Mas­ter­ing them can be in­cred­i­bly re­ward­ing as they are (in my hum­ble foodie opinion) the sec­ond tasti­est western break­fast food that ex­ists (the first be­ing waf­fles, be­cause yum).

Each time I made an omelette for Sleep­ing Beauty, it was a unique sur­prise that she was ea­ger to un­veil. She used to re­fer to them as her “adult Kinder Sur­prises” be­cause, while they al­ways ap­peared the same on the out­side, on the in­side she never knew what culi­nary com­bi­na­tion she was go­ing to get.

Some morn­ings I would sneak to the fridge to scav­enge for com­pletely off-the-wall in­gre­di­ents (more out of ne­ces­sity than creative brav­ery) such as green beans, rice, snow peas, nappa, pro­sciutto, or beef and broc­coli from our Chi­nese food left­overs. Once I even made a covert ex­pe­di­tion to McDon­ald’s to get a cou­ple of bun­less Big Macs to use as omelette fill­ing ... and of course, a cup of the largest, strong­est black cof­fee that they had . . . . . . . . . .

All th­ese fill­ings (de­spite their in­her­ent weird­ness) went over very well with Sleep­ing Beauty, but I was be­gin­ning to won­der if there was in­deed a fill­ing com­bi­na­tion that would make all the ones prior seem drab and mun­dane by com­par­i­son.

I de­cided that one day I would make her an omelette to eclipse all the oth­ers in her eyes; an omelette that would be­come her ab­so­lute favourite.

That morn­ing, I stuffed my ear­buds into my ears to blare Me­tal­lica’s cover of “Whisky in the Jar” from my iPhone li­brary. Fueled by hard mu­sic (and a pot of freshly brewed perk) I threw open the fridge door and be­gan dig­ging out my in­gre­di­ents with en­thu­si­asm, bent on mak­ing my then-girl­friend a new and unique omelette to shake things up.

As I spot­ted a sir­loin steak I had thaw­ing the night be­fore, I re­mem­bered her favourite thing to eat in the world was a juicy, medium-rare steak. If I could in­cor­po­rate that into an omelette it would be a pleas­ant sur­prise for her to dis­cover in­side along with some red, yel­low and green pep­per sliv­ers, ba­con, some mush­rooms, diced cu­cum­ber and a gen­er­ous hand­ful of shred­ded moz­zarella cheese.

It could even be – dare I say – the ul­ti­mate omelette to blow Sleep­ing Beauty’s mind, heart and taste­buds. With a crack of my fin­gers, neck, wrists and back (yeah, I’m one of those, sorry) I set to work cre­at­ing... On medium heat, pre­heat pan with diced ba­con. Care­fully re­move cooked ba­con from grease and add mush­rooms, cu­cum­ber and pep­pers, stir­ring oc­ca­sion­ally.

After three min­utes, add un­cooked steak strips and con­tinue to cook and stir un­til the meat reaches de­sired done­ness. For well-done steak strips, add the steak to the pan along with mush­rooms, cu­cum­ber and pep­pers.

Turn off burner and set the con­tents of the pan aside.

Next, heat a medium, non-stick pan on medium heat and add a gen­er­ous splash of olive oil. Whisk eggs in a small bowl un­til evenly blended.

Care­fully pour beaten eggs into the pan, swirling pan much as a gold prospec­tor would to en­sure the pan is evenly coated with the egg.

When the egg ap­pears solid enough to flip, take a large din­ner plate and place over top of pan and flip the whole thing over. Now, you can very eas­ily slide it back into the pan so the other side can cook evenly with­out the risk of break­ing the egg apart.

Next, quickly add – in or­der – shred­ded cheese, ba­con, cu­cum­ber, pep­pers and mush­rooms and steak to the left or right half of the egg bed.

Now comes the tricky part – care­fully fold the other side of the egg bed over the other half so the en­tire thing looks like your stan­dard half-moon omelette shape. Once you ac­com­plish this (good job, by the way) let it con­tinue to cook to melt cheese and give some heat to the other in­gre­di­ents for about an­other minute. Then, care­fully slide the en­tire omelette onto a clean plate. Top it with a smear of sour cream and sprin­kle it with salt, pep­per and pars­ley to make it look pretty and taste even more won­der­ful.

Voila! Your omelette is now com­plete! Any great break­fast item can go mar­velously with this omelette but I highly rec­om­mend a few hash browns, some fruit and/or yogurt as a de­li­cious ad­di­tion to this break­fast beast.

Toast and a few beans are also a tan­ta­liz­ing side for any omelette and go well with this one as I just found out (I made one and got so ex­cited and hun­gry that I de­voured it and for­got to take a photo of it, so here’s an­other one).

With my omelette and the de­sired sides com­plete and Sleep­ing Beauty’s mug of tea per­fectly made, I set them on the break­fast tray, mak­ing it as glo­ri­ous as the tableau of a sa­vant.

As ex­pected, she was still snor­ing like a mother bear in the dead of win­ter, stone to the world. I set the tray be­side her and play­fully poked, rocked, bit and fi­nally kissed her awake so that she could take in the mas­ter­piece that I set be­fore her.

She should have ex­pected it re­ally, but was still gen­uinely sur­prised and de­lighted when she took in the break­fast tray. In­deed, she ad­mit­ted it was by far the tasti­est omelette yet.

“The ben­e­fits of dat­ing a chef far out­weigh the draw­backs,” I re­mem­ber her say­ing as she tore into the omelette.

“Draw­backs?” I de­manded, aghast.

“You snore,” she replied with a full-mouthed smile.

Happy Morn­ings!

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