I rise around 8 AM. And potter around in my room for a while before descending for breakfast.
I order bacon and eggs. What else would I have gone for.
“We don’t have breakfast potatoes. Will French fries be OK?”
“Sure.”
The eggs come out sunnyside up again. I definitely asked for over easy. I always do. Because that’s how I like my eggs. I’d make them that way at home, if I weren’t afraid of breaking the yolk when I flip them. It’s disappointing that in a hotel as posh as this they can’t get an egg order right.
On the menu, the breakfast is down at $15. But with a coffee and various other charges, it totals out at double that. This sort of thing really pisses me off. The menu price is pure fucking fantasy.
I hadn’t even bothered unpacking my large bag. Packing consists of little more than bundling up my laptop and ancillary bits.
I’m soon in a cab bouncing along the motorway. Which is, happily, much emptier than yesterday.
Checking in and security are a doddle. Though the repeated announcements to check your carry-on bags for guns are quite disconcerting.
I quickly nip into the duty free for some bourbon. I wouldn’t want to go home without any. I get a bottle of Buffalo Trace.
The Delta lounge is pretty good. With some decent hot and cold food. And drinks, obviously. Though some of the fancier drinks you have to pay for. I opt for Old Forrester, the free bourbon.
For some reason, I have trouble getting connected to the internet. When I eventually get in, I fire up the VPN to watch some Dutch TV.
The plates and cutlery are disposable. Which is a bit of a surprise in a lounge.
I don’t go crazy. Sticking to just four or five whiskies. Though they are very generous pours. I get some food to help soak it up. A sandwich. Then some barbecue pork. Which is rather nice.
When I get to the gate, they’re just about to board my group. Which is perfect.
I sleep, well doze, for most of the flight. Which gets in half an hour early, at 5:30. I roll up at home at around 6:30.
No cup of tea waiting for me, as Dolores is still in bed. Andrew is still up, though. I make some tea and take a cup upstairs to Dolores. Now there’s a novelty.
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6 comments:
I do my eggs over easy. I have about a 50% success rate. The ones that break are at least still edible, but it's a bit like cask beer - the ones that come out perfect make up for for the occasional disappointment.
My God, as a proud American, I can only apologize for the appalling state of what they foisted off as breakfast, place after place, after place. All I can say is you really need to get away from hotel breakfasts, because the mom-n-pop diners here serve a breakfast worth crossing the Atlantic for. And what you showed most certainly was not.
Wherever you go over here, find a local to guide your dining. They could recommend a mud puddle and it would be an improvement over what the hotels served you.
What is it with Americans and butter on their bread? Do they actually just serve slices of plain bread or toast with nothing to put on it?
American food is rubbish generally, unless you want to pay $300 for dinner.
Best eggs are "froached eggs" .. I came across them in Greece where they start off by frying a couple of eggs in a decent glug of proper olive oil, then a good splash of lemon juice, cover the pan and steam off for a few minutes.
You can do them as "done" as you like, certainly beats the "mystery bag" over-easy eggs.
Lemon juice is optional but along with the olive oil, renders a lovely sauce to dip your bread in.
Phil,
I normally do try yo have diner breakfasts whenever I can. It just wasn't practical on this trip.
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