I would set out at dawn each morning, drive for an hour or so, then hit a truck stop for a hearty breakfast. At some point in the journey, I started seeing salsa on the counters at all meals.
One venue in particular has always stuck in my mind: A wood-paneled room, perhaps in Wyoming, where I sat at the bar for breakfast -- and scorned the small dishes of bright red salsa. Now I'd know enough to add it to my scrambled eggs, but it just didn't appeal to me then.
This morning I treated myself to breakfast at The Good Egg in Scottsdale. Ariz., where the dark roasted salsa did not go to waste. My intention was to try a light egg dish, but I couldn't resist my usual huevos rancheros. The Good Egg version comes with black beans, crispy home fries, a bit of melted cheese, and a sprinkle of crispy corn tortilla chips, topped off with pico de gallo, sour cream. a few jalapenos and two eggs -- poached in my case. As if that weren't enough, the dish is accompanied by two warm flour tortillas and the salsa. It has a bit of the appeal of nachos combined with a superb breakfast dish.
It was in Cozumel, Mexico, that I first tried huevos rancheros. Bob and I were sitting in a harborfront cafe, watching a cruise ship that seemed to be having a difficult time getting into port. I was still learning to enjoy Mexican food, and what I remember most about that dish are the black bean refritos and how well they went with the eggs. It would be many years before I began seeing huevos on menus with any frequency, but I now know I can get a great version anytime I'm in Scottsdale.
And it's a particular pleasure to visit The Good Egg, because it reminds me of my father. I don't know how many times I heard him compliment an acquaintance or friend by calling him or her a "good egg." My kids will tell you that I'm also partial to that description -- yet another instance of becoming like one's parents, but in my case I usually don't mind at all.
I had hoped to introduce my father to The Good Egg and its huevos rancheros. I think he would have enjoyed it, but, alas, it was not to be.
Tomorrow: Dining alone
