Eggcentric foodie call
Screw me if didn't do it again! How could I be so freakin' weak? And just when I was really beginning to think I was finally over this kind of pathetic behavior, it starts all over again - I get that awful (but kinda awfully good) hot hankering right down there. And in a blur and a flash it happens: I'm caught red-handed performing a "Drink and Dial."
Thus with my pulse pounding, I observe myself making the desperate call and afterwards spasmodically clicking off the phone with a jerk of self-loathing. Then I attempt to settle in as the terrible, unbearable clock ticking starts.
So I kill time and brain cells by knocking back a stiff drink. I stare hard in the mirror. I have one more slurp of courage. And another, this time a ridiculously big one. I slip in some mood music, something comforting, soothing, but still with an edge. I re-gaze at my watch, re-fluff up the pillows lying on my couch, and peek again to see if I've tossed all the dirty socks out of sight.
Right when I'm considering just running off and hiding and somehow ignoring the damn door, that familiar, gentle knock raps, and my heart flutters like a thousand feathers blown on by the wind. I quickly check my pockets for cash and make the wobbly walk toward the deadbolt. And then, riding in on a blast of sultry night air, come those sexy, sexy words I've secretly been so longing to hear: "Uh, did you order eggs?"
Yes, my friends, eggs. You see the creative people at the nifty Cafe Corner have come up with a zany enterprise - late-night breakfast delivery. Sure, it's crazy, but it's kind of inspired, too, don't you think? I mean, considering the huge student body they serve?
Their apt motto, "Late-night breakfast for late-night people," is written on Eggs' sunny-side-up-colored menu. I suppose the thinking is that if breakfast is the most important meal of the day, then the proudly deranged people who believe the middle of the night is the most important time of the day ought to be catered to. And so Eggs delivers from a breakfast-only menu from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. (4 a.m. on the weekends).
How is it? Well, it's always arrived piping hot and on time (expect a 45-minute wait). And it's fairly cheap. If that sounds like less than a ringing endorsement, it's only because some of the Eggs stuff I got was on the limp side (anything at all "bready") and some was really oily (OK, all of it).
But if you're craving a solid breakfast to caress your soggy and sore spots at, say, 2 a.m. and, uh, driving or cooking aren't advisable in your condition, then Eggs has sorta got you by the yolks.
But don't worry, if you order right (Hash Brown Casserole!), you'll be more than satisfied, and likely better equipped to face the next day. Consider it like having access to a greasy spoon in the privacy of your own living room. Plus you won't groggily wake up to a grease fire or a morning-after kitchen that resembles Fallujah.
Breakfast of Champion Midnight Slackers
(listed in order of preference)
Hash Brown Casserole ($7): Pure guilty pleasure. A reason to jones and gorge. Its crisp-ish, cheesy, oniony, golden-brown fried shredded spuds come in a mac-n-cheese-like block.
Classic Breakfast ($7): Hash brown casserole plus two warm fried eggs, two doughboy-quality biscuits and choice of standard-issue breakfast meat ($1 extra for pasty sausage gravy or cheese sauce).
The Horseshoe ($9): Feeds the household. A laughably over-the-top slop bucket spilling over with a huge hash brown casserole smothered with cheese sauce and sausage gravy, green peppers, mushrooms, jalapenos, four biscuits, ham, bacon, two kinds of sausages, eggs (mine seemed to be missing, but who could really tell?), tomatoes and so forth.
Spicy veggie burrito ($8): Easy to suck down. Eggs, lots of green peppers and nacho cheese sauce, hot sauce and hash brown casserole rolled up in a big flour tortilla.
Cinnamon Apple French Toast ($7): Good-tasting but soggy. Very decent, nicely browned, eggy slabs of Texas toast sided with a warm, gooey mass of cooked apples.
Pancakes ($7): Mine tasted mostly of the surfeit of oil they were cooked in.