I have wanted to try making Eggs Benny for a long time, but was put off by nonsensical fear of Hollandaise Fail. You know, how the butter and eggs can cause a warp in the space-time continuum and rip a hole in the very fabric of existence? Or at least curdle? Yeah. I was scared of that.
But yesterday, as I was pulling the potato plants out of the side bed (15 little potatoes, but they got put in on a whim and weren’t watered and got no light, so I am pleased anyhow) and making a mental note to add some oregano to the spaghetti sauce I am making with tomatoes, garlic, and oregano I grew, it occurred to me that maybe it was a pretty stupid thing, this fear of Hollandaise Fail.
So I said to E, “I am making Eggs Benedict tomorrow morning.”
“Cool!” he said.
“More specifically,” I clarified, “We are having them tomorrow morning. Whether I make them or you whisk me off to the Sunshine Diner for them, because I have utterly failed and am crying at my own hapless failure.”
“Cool,” he said. He’s good that way.
So I got my eggs out and my butter and my English muffins and my ham and my boiling pot of water and whisked and melted and added and stirred and added it all together and plated it.
The sauce curdled a bit, but it tasted great, as I could tell by the fact that I’d eaten half of one English muffin and E was scraping sauce from his plate and casting his eyes around for more, muttering, “Oh my God, Oh my God!”
And then Scott came over to get E, and he tasted the sauce and then went to lick the bowl. So I am pretty sure I did okay.
Bring it on, I say! I am on my way to becoming a saucier of note!