{"id":1625,"date":"2006-09-05T00:15:00","date_gmt":"2006-09-05T00:15:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2006\/09\/05\/9-am-sunday-baked-eggs-and-bacon"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:03","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:03","slug":"9-am-sunday-baked-eggs-and-bacon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2006\/09\/9-am-sunday-baked-eggs-and-bacon\/","title":{"rendered":"9 am Sunday: baked eggs and bacon"},"content":{"rendered":"

The call came last Thursday.<\/p>\n

\u201cMolly.\u201d Rebecca said sternly. \u201cSunday morning. Jimmy<\/a>\u2019s.\u201d I wasn\u2019t sure if this was a command or a question. \u201cHe\u2019s doing baked eggs. Don\u2019t eat after three o\u2019clock on Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n

In only a few words, there it was: the return of the Jimmy<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
Longtime readers of this site will remember Jimmy, my former employer Rebecca\u2019s gay husband and the crowned king of Sunday mornings, the man whose
bold<\/a>, fearless<\/a> conquests<\/a> of the kitchen have clogged<\/a> many an artery, spawned Dutch babies<\/a> across the land, and won countless full-bellied followers. For a while there, I had the honor of spending nearly one Sunday out of four in Jimmy\u2019s petite, astoundingly productive kitchen, and astounded I was by the quantities of fat, sugar, and cream that fell upon my plate. It was delightful; it was delicious; it was completely immoderate<\/strong>. I loved those mornings, but in all honesty, I feared them a little too. So when a few months passed without a call from Rebecca, I was sad, but I took it as a sign that my waistline and I were supposed to stay at home, where the milk is (mostly) nonfat and the chocolate stays in the cabinet until well after noon.<\/p>\n

You\u2019d better believe, though, that when the call did come, Brandon and I wasted no time in getting to Jimmy\u2019s. While we did <\/em>get off the elevator on the wrong floor and pace the hallway for a few minutes, wondering why none of the doors were emitting the usual bacon-scented tractor beam<\/strong>, when we finally reached the right floor and the right door, oh, we were ready<\/em>.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>There was a skillet of potatoes on the stove, browning slowly in butter with a dice of bell pepper. Rebecca, wearing a Caf\u00e9 du Monde apron and a Band-Aid on her thumb\u2014\u201cJimmy made me grate the cheese,\u201d she explained cheerfully\u2014poured mimosas and stirred the potatoes. \"\"<\/a>Jimmy stood at the counter with three small sheet pans of bacon and a bowl of sugar, cayenne, and black pepper, which he spooned atop the slices before sliding them into the oven, where they began to slowly sizzle and crisp, turning a gorgeous shade of shiny, burnished red.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
Then he prepared the eggs. I have had baked eggs in many incarnations, but I had never seen any like these. The whites were seasoned and whipped separately, so that they formed a frothy nest in which to place the yolk<\/strong>. A dollop of cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche sat on top like a cap, along with a few feathery shreds of the Cantal cheese that gives this dish its elegant name: oeufs \u00e0 la Cantalienne<\/em>. Once in the oven, the whites puffed around the yolk like a rumpled lace collar, and the whole thing went airy and golden, like a sort of deconstructed souffl\u00e9<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
It was eggs, bacon, and hash browns, but served up Jimmy-style: on oblong Fiestaware plates, and at 9 am.<\/p>\n

I stabbed at the yolk with my fork, and it split into the soft, spongy whites with a rush of yellow. The melted cheese wove a fine web over the top and down into the egg, where it wound delicately around the tines when I scooped up a bite. It was almost cloudlike\u2014but then it was creamy too<\/strong>, swallowing with the soothing, milky tang of cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche. My only regret, having quickly scraped my ramekin clean, was that I didn\u2019t drag at least one of the potatoes through the saucy, yolky stuff at the bottom. But I swallowed my remorse with a few bites of bacon, whose sweet-hot burn made a tasty distraction\u2014tasty <\/span>enough, in fact, to tide me over until the next call.<\/p>\n

Oeufs \u00e0 la Cantalienne
<\/strong>Gourmet<\/em>, September 2006<\/p>\n

Rather than the Cantal<\/a> cheese called for here, Jimmy used Beaufort<\/a>, and although that might technically make these oeufs \u00e0 la Beaufortienne<\/em>, we found the substitution more than acceptable. In fact, so far as I could tell, every single speck of these beauties was gobbled up. Jimmy served them in individual ramekins, but Gourmet<\/em>\u2019s recipe indicates that you could also use a single 9\u201d-by-13\u201d baking dish, which would make this easy recipe even simpler.<\/p>\n

A note to those who, like me<\/a>, have mixed feelings about rich breakfasts and brunches: this is the recipe for you. It feels almost virtuous somehow\u2014so much so that I\u2019m tempted to call it \u201cJimmy lite.\u201d But I won\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Butter, for greasing ramekins
6 large eggs
\u00bc tsp salt
\u00bc tsp black pepper
1\/8 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1\/8 tsp cream of tartar
3 oz coarsely grated Cantal cheese, about 1 cup
6 Tbs cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche
Chopped fresh chives, for garnish<\/p>\n

Position an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter 6 (8-ounce) ramekins or a 9\u201d-by-13\u201d baking dish. If you are using ramekins, place them on a rimmed baking sheet for ease of transport.<\/p>\n

Separate the eggs, putting the whites into a large mixing bowl and carefully sliding the whole, unbroken yolks into a small bowl of cold water.<\/p>\n

Using an electric mixer at medium-high speed, beat the egg whites with salt, pepper, nutmeg, and cream of tartar until they just hold stiff peaks. Fold in \u00bd cup cheese gently but thoroughly. Divide the egg white mixture among ramekins or transfer to the baking dish, smoothing the top slightly. [The whites will stand above the rims of the ramekins.] Make an indentation in the center of the whites in each ramekin, or, if you are using the baking dish, make 6 evenly spaced indentations. Using your fingers, carefully remove the yolks from the water one at a time, and slip one yolk into each indentation.<\/p>\n

Stir the cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche so that it is smooth and free of lumps, and spoon one tablespoon on top of each yolk. Sprinkle the eggs with the remaining cheese.<\/p>\n

Bake the eggs until the whites are puffed and pale golden, 10 to 14 minutes. The yolks should jiggle slightly. Sprinkle with chives, and serve immediately.<\/p>\n

Yield: 6 servings <\/p>\n

_______<\/div>\n

Sweet-and-Spicy Bacon<\/strong>
Gourmet<\/em>, September 2006<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
I should begin by saying this: I am not a huge fan of bacon. The thought of it is certainly pleasant enough, but it doesn\u2019t send me clawing for a plateful. I like it better as a flavor component in a larger dish, I guess, than as a stand-alone thing. This<\/span> bacon, however, is no ordinary stuff. No one\u2014not even I\u2014can straddle the fence when pork fat meets sugar, cayenne, and black pepper. I ate three pieces, and that\u2019s no small potatoes.<\/p>\n

1 \u00bd Tbs packed light brown sugar
Rounded \u00bc tsp cayenne
Rounded \u00bc tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 lb thick-cut bacon (about 12 slices)<\/p>\n

Position an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.<\/p>\n

In a small bowl, stir together the brown sugar, cayenne, and black pepper.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Arrange the bacon slices in 1 layer\u2014not overlapping\u2014on the rack of a large broiler pan. [Jimmy didn\u2019t use a broiler pan. Instead, he lined a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil and put the bacon on the foil. It seemed to work just fine.] Bake the bacon for 20 minutes. Turn the slices over, and sprinkle them evenly with the spiced sugar. Continue baking until the bacon is crisp and deep golden, about 20-35 minutes more, checking every 5 minutes. Transfer to paper towels to drain before serving. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The call came last Thursday. \u201cMolly.\u201d Rebecca said sternly. \u201cSunday morning. Jimmy\u2019s.\u201d I wasn\u2019t sure if this was a command or a question. \u201cHe\u2019s doing baked eggs. Don\u2019t eat after three o\u2019clock on Saturday.\u201d In only a few words, there it was: the return of the Jimmy. Longtime readers of this site will remember Jimmy, my former employer Rebecca\u2019s gay husband and the crowned king of Sunday mornings, the man whose bold, fearless conquests of the kitchen have clogged many an artery, spawned Dutch babies across the land, and won countless full-bellied followers. For a while there, I had the honor of spending nearly one Sunday out of four in Jimmy\u2019s petite, astoundingly productive kitchen, and astounded I was by…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n9 am Sunday: baked eggs and bacon | Orangette<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/orangette.net\/2006\/09\/9-am-sunday-baked-eggs-and-bacon\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"9 am Sunday: baked eggs and bacon | Orangette\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The call came last Thursday. \u201cMolly.\u201d Rebecca said sternly. \u201cSunday morning. Jimmy\u2019s.\u201d I wasn\u2019t sure if this was a command or a question. \u201cHe\u2019s doing baked eggs. Don\u2019t eat after three o\u2019clock on Saturday.\u201d In only a few words, there it was: the return of the Jimmy. Longtime readers of this site will remember Jimmy, my former employer Rebecca\u2019s gay husband and the crowned king of Sunday mornings, the man whose bold, fearless conquests of the kitchen have clogged many an artery, spawned Dutch babies across the land, and won countless full-bellied followers. 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