Breakfast Writing Contest
BreakfastGuy on Jan 8th 2010
Here at Breakfast in Bridgetown, we’re all about breakfast and writing. So it makes sense that our second contest would be … writing about breakfast!
Here’s the deal: We want to hear your best Portland breakfast story. That might not be the best meal you ever ate, or even the worst, but it will be a good story.
Give us up to 500 words, and we’ll judge it on two categories: how good is the story, and how good is the writing? The judges for this contest are:
- Paul Gerald, author and publisher of Breakfast in Bridgetown: The Definitive Guide to Portland’s Favorite Meal, and the host of the PDX.FM radio show of the same name.
- Mindie Kniss, frequent guest on the show and organizer of the PDX Breakfast Club on Meetup.com. She’s an editor at two lit magazines and an integrative life coach; see KnissCoaching.com.
- Dieselboi, the Lead Cartivore of FoodCartsPortland.com.
We’ll be taking submissions until the end of the day on Friday, January 29th, and we’ll announce the winner during the show on Friday, February 5th.
How to enter? Best is to email it to me, Paul@BaconandEggsPress.com.
And what does the winner get? The winning submission will be included in the second edition of Paul’s book – with credit and everything! We’ll even throw in two signed copies of the book when it comes out … sometime.
Mindie and I discussed this contest towards the end of Podcast #10 on January 8.
Alright, all you breakfast-eating literary types – go to it!
Simpatica’s brunch. Smoked brisket strata? Oyster Benny? Free Coffee (that is good)? All accounted for. Not only is their menu diverse, but they do simple things like roasted potatoes perfectly. Their hollandaise sauce is the best in town, it got just the right amount of butter, a slight zest and its not too thick. And they are generous with it. The service is amazing and prompt despite how busy it is (unlike other breakfast places cough…gravy…cough). The only bad thing about this breakfast/brunch is that it is only served once a week on Sunday and as such there is a significant wait.
Here is my entry to this contest:
Being a morning person, breakfast is a favorite meal for me. It’s the caloric input that gets my engine running. As a quick and easy fix cereal usually suffices, and Smart Start is the cereal of choice, but enjoying a cooked breakfast in a restaurant is a luxury to indulge in, even if it comes all too rarely.
Breakfast, like any meal, is as much about the company as about the food. My best breakfast memory comes from Fall 2009 when I shared this meal with two friends, Ward Jenkins and Mark Carroll. I picked up Ward, a night-owl, at the ungodly hour (for him) of 5:40am. No lights on in his house, I was beginning to wonder if he had forgotten our appointment when his door cracked open and his tousle-haired head appeared. Not surprising, really, since Ward is an artist, an illustrator of children’s books. He is the co-leader with me of a film review group. But this morning was different. I was going to introduce him to Mark, who creates movie snippets for use in churches, and writes movie reflections for the on-line magazine (Christian Video) that I write for.
Arriving at Francis Xavier’s restaurant in Portland, with introductions behind us, we ordered food. Mine was a typical breakfast order: sunnyside eggs smiling and runny, bacon so crisp it snapped when touched, and pancakes as fluffy as the Portland clouds waiting to pour rain on us outside. Was the food exceptional? No, not really, but it was good. But the conversation was priceless.
We discussed movies and books, old and new. Having just seen “Where the Wild Things Are,” a favorite book of Mark’s, the discussion started there, and migrated to Ward’s book with Michael Phelps, then onto his new project. Families and vacations drifted into the talk. Before we knew it we were like old friends. But time was moving against us.
When we were finished eating, drinking coffee, and sharing classic movie scenes, Mark took us to his work place: CCLI (Christian Copyright and Licensing Incorporated). From a little known and undistinguished building a mere mile from the restaurant, this company keeps track of all the songs played on Christian radio stations and sung in churches. They receive the royalty payments and then disperse them to the artists who own copyright. I expected a brief 10-15 minute tour, but instead Mark led us for almost an hour throughout the full extent of the building, introducing us to everyone along the way. Most were intrigued by Ward, when they heard he had directed TV commercials of cocoa puffs. If I had a dollar for each time someone said they had seen his work and bought the breakfast product I would be rich! I will long remember this tour.
This was a long but terrific breakfast meeting!
Martin Baggs
OK team, here is my entry:
If you are fortunate to have been born in the state of Texas you are likely to equate the concept of BBQ with one particular dish: Brisket. To find good brisket anywhere west of El Paso is sort of like finding cold fusion. You keep hearing someone has done it, but it never pans out.
With this in mind, we brought our family, members of the Texas diaspora, to Podnah’s Pit for breakfast. The result? As Texas as dominoes after church.
My father and I threw skepticism to the wind and went for the “Kyle’s Breakfast” which is a basic breakfast that includes sliced brisket. And yes, cold fusion occurred. Good brisket in Portland? Who knew? We ate like starving trail hands. In a moment, it was all over but the shoutin’.
Even more of a surprise were the biscuits. Big as your head, flaky goodness. My grandmother Roberta had a way with biscuits that can never be replicated, but these evoked a faint echo of a distant memory of breakfast at her house. Savoring a bite, I was out walking in the shinnery with my grandfather Avis, moving irrigation pipe, and stepping around the dreaded bite’n worms.
Another surprise: Migas. Essentially a tejano scramble with corn tortillas strips, peppers, onions, & cheddar served with flour tortillas, potatoes, beans, &salsa. Popular around Austin and San Antonio this is down-home food and as Texas as Lone Star long necks.
While the smoked trout hash went out on a shaky Shin Oak limb, the rest of the selections were solid. Vegans? No. No. Hell no. Texas is meat and potatoes country and Podnah’s embraces that. Good old fashioned vegetarians will do well with the menu, though it’s OK to sneak a bite of some home made sausage or brisket. Come on, no one’s looking! We won’t tell your hippie friends over on Alberta.
The main drawback of the long narrow dining space is that the BBQ smoke infuses everything, including your clothes. I spent the rest of the day getting strong hints of brisket every time I took off my jacket. While I was immediately plunged back into a world of pick up trucks and dove hunts, not every one of us is ready to head off to the dear lease every five minutes. The décor? Nothing special, but with good brisket and good company, who looks at the walls? Not us. Coffee? Sure. Pour it your own self. Just like at home. Just make sure you offer to pour Ma-Ma a cup. As she would have said, “Now, be sweet!”
Kerry Jeffrey
This would be my attempt at an entry;
It’s a wonderfully cold and drizzly Portland morning. My son awakes and shuffles into my room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Good morning Mommy. Waffles?”
This is his daily salutation. Once every couple of weeks I indulge him. We dress quickly and warmly to make our way to “Happy Waffles” or more commonly known as Flavor Spot. He runs to the window and immediately places his order.
“Hot chocolate please?”
We argue over what we want in our waffle. He is two and a half and has impeccable persuasion skills. He wants sausage, I want bacon. He tells me he loves sausage more than Bubba (our dog). We order a sausage waffle.
At this point it’s raining. Drinking our coffee and chocolate in the rain, smelling the griddle as it creates our masterpiece, I suggest we eat it at home.
“No. It tastes better in the rain.”
We grab our order. The incessant giggling begins. Profuse thank you’s are given. More giggling. He sits on the wet bench with his napkin and in a maniacally excited voice screams, “I’m ready!”
We eat in silence for a minute. In between bites he giggles and tells me he is so happy. He sings to his waffle. He tells it how delicious it is. He asks if he can give some to the dog when we get home. He takes the one carefully selected bite, wraps it up in the leftover paper and we head back to the car. On the car ride home, he tells me he loves me more than waffles. I tell him I love him more than waffles. We get out of the car, get inside the toasty house and call to bubba for his treat. I tell my son to hand it over. He looks at me, smiles and says, “I ate it.”