Well, this was a special treat. And not just because I had red-eye gravy two days in a row. Nor because I had yet another perfectly poached egg (which I did) or one of Sue's crumbly delicious biscuits with honey-butter (again, ditto).
This one was special on the plate because I learned that when the board at Bluegrass says "Choice of Meat" that one of my options is sausage.
"That's strange D, you always talk about bacon."
"Well, yes, I do LOVE bacon. But I am also big on the pig and a firm believer that the swine is fine. I love PORK. It's just God's gift to omnivores."
And (and here's the kicker), Bluegrass makes their own sausage.
Think for a minute about making sausage. It's not hard. It's taking ground pork and spices and mixing them together. These weren't even in casings. They were just spiced-pork meatballs.
But someone MADE them. Someone I could meet if I had asked Herbert to introduce me. They would have come out of the back to the end of the bar with a quizzical look wondering who the weirdo was with the camera and the pork-fascination.
That's the best part to me. Those guys make their food. And they can tell me where it came from.
A word on the bialy before I leave you.
I will make them soon. A crispy crust, a soft roll center, a yeasty flavor in every little pocket of yeast-formed air-pocket that screams "Pour gravy in me."
A slight chewiness to your breakfast that makes you work for it, and relish every tender bite of goodness.
Yeah, this brunch did not suck.