My brother used to make it when I was a kid and still does every once in a while.
Hands-on Time: 5-10 minutes
Hands-off Time: none
Serves: two
Gear:
12-inch non-stick frying pan
A glass
Ingredients:
2 slices of bread
2 eggs
Butter
Salt and pepper to taste.
1. In a non-stick frying pan, melt a dab of butter at a medium-high heat.
2. While it’s melting, make a hole in the middle of piece of bread with the glass.
3. Toss the holy bread into the frying pan, crack the egg, and release the yolk and white into the hole in the bread.
3. Cook the egg on that side for a minute or so then flip it and do the same.
4. Repeat for the second serving.
This is a simple and easy way of making eggs and toast.
Monday, February 25, 2008
In Praise of Simplicity
In keeping with the tradition of random, (and, alas, often meaningless posts) I begin to pen this entry on the road. As I sit in the techno/rock bar named Zeppelin off of Salta's hot bar district, Balcarce Street, I find my mind wandering from the alcohol and nicotine fueled dance floor -- catalyzed by remixes of your sixth grade play list [Offspring, Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine] -- and to the topic of food which is never too far from my mind and heart.
Please, allow me to explain. Zeppelin, although not on the main drag here, is one of the most popular nightspots in town. It's shaped like an abbreviated stick of butter; about as tall as it is wide (20 ft by 20 ft) and probably about 150 feet long and runs parallel to the street. There's a fifteen-peso cover (just under $5 US) and you get a ticket that entitles you to a "free" drink. Of course you can hear the music from the street, but once you get in, it's a whole new story. Look left and you find a cataract of 15-year-old girls made up to look 18 cascading over a promontory of 30-year-old dirt bags.
I'm not even sure that the bar's walls are decorated; they're hard to see. After glancing down to my right, where the bar and a couple loungey tables sit under a lofted space halfway between the floor and ceiling and about 10 wide, I look left toward the DJ and Sargasso Sea of pulsing bodies, most of whom are dancing and screaming out the closest phonetic approximations that their Argentine minds can muster when pummeled with an incredibly loud "Another Brick in the Wall Part 2" remix.
It's now 4:41 AM.
Why on earth is that place popular? I believe it’s the simplicity... and the 15-year-olds.
The bar's ambience, augmented by a smoke machine, dark-painted walls, a disco ball, and two colored dance-hall light ball things, reaches my mind as an encomium of the timelessness of this kind of dance bar. The two lights neither blind the patrons nor strobe, making the place epileptic-friendly. No roped-off sections, no VIP; a perfect example of South American egalitarian Marxism. 30-year-old and fifteen-year-old get treated alike, and the girls love it.
We kept seeing these little girls getting approached by older men and rolling our eyes or laughing. Miguel, an Italian chef and owner of an Italian restaurant here in Salta, left our table about 10 minutes ago, and brought with him a lot of the levity of this portion of the evening.
"I have to work tomorrow morning," he told me.
When John came back from the bar and asked about Miguel, I relayed the news.
"Oh," said John, "yeah he goes to the restaurant every morning to bake bread."
Fantastic rosemary focaccia and regular Italian bread. They bring it out with a plate of olive oil. I had ordered a type of pasta that started with a z and is similar to ravioli. It was stuffed with spinach and served with a bolognese sauce accompanied by a dish of freshly grated parmesan, which I forgot about until John reminded me and I garnished the last few stuffed pillows, covering them with the thin strands.
This is best Italian food I've had since arriving in Argentina is September - and I've had a lot. The majority of Argentines are descended from Europeans. Some figures state the European descendancy as high as 90 percent. Any of you familiar with Argentine Spanish will know the lilting intonation resembles more that of Southern Italy than Spain. I've seen more restaurants advertising fresh, handmade pasta in Buenos Aires than on Arthur Ave. in the Bronx. So, what made Miguel's dish stand out? Simplicity.
Geographical isolation and topographical misfortune have historically landed Northern Argentina an isolated region, bound by the Andes to the west, more mountains to the north, and jungle to the East. As such, no post-Incan trade routes bothered with the region. As a result, the typical food, "la comida criolla" is like Taco Bell in that it uses the same dozen things in varying ratios to make every dish. Not to imply that the food here tastes or looks anything like Mexican food. On the contrary, it's bland as hell. Almost everything uses corn, squash, tomatoes, peas, rice, chicken, beef, onions or potatoes ... and TON of salt. But bland doesn't mean simple. Many of the traditional dishes are rather labor intensive.
Miguel's pasta, stuffed with spinach, lacked the complications of many other dishes. The sauce, light on the spices, but with enough to add a subtle sophistication to the flavor, lingers after you swallow. Tender pasta, fresh spinach, and simple presentation with two basil leaves as a garnish. John later told me that Miguel takes three days to make the bolognese. I believe it.
So I walked away from the meal thinking about the quaint but straightforward presentation and the stripped down dish that reflected what it truly was; spinach ravioli with a meat bolognese. Then I thought of my best Italian dish, penne a la vodka with a marinara cream sauce. This takes me about an hour with store-bought pasta and a couple cans of crushed tomatoes. Onions, garlic, basil, oregano, salt, pepper, rosemary, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, olive oil, eggplant, shallots, cream, bacon or pancetta, sometimes sausage, chicken, or prosciutto. This simple dish blew it away. Sometimes, especially with home-cooks, we get too involved, too ambitious, and make our dishes too busy. So, next time, try to cut out an ingredient or two in a haphazard dish and see if you can taste the difference.
-Mark Potkewitz
Salta, Argentina
Please, allow me to explain. Zeppelin, although not on the main drag here, is one of the most popular nightspots in town. It's shaped like an abbreviated stick of butter; about as tall as it is wide (20 ft by 20 ft) and probably about 150 feet long and runs parallel to the street. There's a fifteen-peso cover (just under $5 US) and you get a ticket that entitles you to a "free" drink. Of course you can hear the music from the street, but once you get in, it's a whole new story. Look left and you find a cataract of 15-year-old girls made up to look 18 cascading over a promontory of 30-year-old dirt bags.
I'm not even sure that the bar's walls are decorated; they're hard to see. After glancing down to my right, where the bar and a couple loungey tables sit under a lofted space halfway between the floor and ceiling and about 10 wide, I look left toward the DJ and Sargasso Sea of pulsing bodies, most of whom are dancing and screaming out the closest phonetic approximations that their Argentine minds can muster when pummeled with an incredibly loud "Another Brick in the Wall Part 2" remix.
It's now 4:41 AM.
Why on earth is that place popular? I believe it’s the simplicity... and the 15-year-olds.
The bar's ambience, augmented by a smoke machine, dark-painted walls, a disco ball, and two colored dance-hall light ball things, reaches my mind as an encomium of the timelessness of this kind of dance bar. The two lights neither blind the patrons nor strobe, making the place epileptic-friendly. No roped-off sections, no VIP; a perfect example of South American egalitarian Marxism. 30-year-old and fifteen-year-old get treated alike, and the girls love it.
We kept seeing these little girls getting approached by older men and rolling our eyes or laughing. Miguel, an Italian chef and owner of an Italian restaurant here in Salta, left our table about 10 minutes ago, and brought with him a lot of the levity of this portion of the evening.
"I have to work tomorrow morning," he told me.
When John came back from the bar and asked about Miguel, I relayed the news.
"Oh," said John, "yeah he goes to the restaurant every morning to bake bread."
Fantastic rosemary focaccia and regular Italian bread. They bring it out with a plate of olive oil. I had ordered a type of pasta that started with a z and is similar to ravioli. It was stuffed with spinach and served with a bolognese sauce accompanied by a dish of freshly grated parmesan, which I forgot about until John reminded me and I garnished the last few stuffed pillows, covering them with the thin strands.
This is best Italian food I've had since arriving in Argentina is September - and I've had a lot. The majority of Argentines are descended from Europeans. Some figures state the European descendancy as high as 90 percent. Any of you familiar with Argentine Spanish will know the lilting intonation resembles more that of Southern Italy than Spain. I've seen more restaurants advertising fresh, handmade pasta in Buenos Aires than on Arthur Ave. in the Bronx. So, what made Miguel's dish stand out? Simplicity.
Geographical isolation and topographical misfortune have historically landed Northern Argentina an isolated region, bound by the Andes to the west, more mountains to the north, and jungle to the East. As such, no post-Incan trade routes bothered with the region. As a result, the typical food, "la comida criolla" is like Taco Bell in that it uses the same dozen things in varying ratios to make every dish. Not to imply that the food here tastes or looks anything like Mexican food. On the contrary, it's bland as hell. Almost everything uses corn, squash, tomatoes, peas, rice, chicken, beef, onions or potatoes ... and TON of salt. But bland doesn't mean simple. Many of the traditional dishes are rather labor intensive.
Miguel's pasta, stuffed with spinach, lacked the complications of many other dishes. The sauce, light on the spices, but with enough to add a subtle sophistication to the flavor, lingers after you swallow. Tender pasta, fresh spinach, and simple presentation with two basil leaves as a garnish. John later told me that Miguel takes three days to make the bolognese. I believe it.
So I walked away from the meal thinking about the quaint but straightforward presentation and the stripped down dish that reflected what it truly was; spinach ravioli with a meat bolognese. Then I thought of my best Italian dish, penne a la vodka with a marinara cream sauce. This takes me about an hour with store-bought pasta and a couple cans of crushed tomatoes. Onions, garlic, basil, oregano, salt, pepper, rosemary, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, olive oil, eggplant, shallots, cream, bacon or pancetta, sometimes sausage, chicken, or prosciutto. This simple dish blew it away. Sometimes, especially with home-cooks, we get too involved, too ambitious, and make our dishes too busy. So, next time, try to cut out an ingredient or two in a haphazard dish and see if you can taste the difference.
-Mark Potkewitz
Salta, Argentina
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