By Sandra Reynolds
It was the third egg that did it.
It was a simple enough decision to head to a local café on NSW's Central Coast for a lazy Saturday breakfast and the order for Eggs Benedict and a cappuccino was provided almost as if on auto-pilot. I didn’t even look at the menu, choosing instead to peruse Spectrum. In hindsight, perhaps I should have paid closer attention.
A few minutes later, the dish appeared. In the middle of a large behemoth of a plate, fully 35 cm in diameter, sat two 12 cm wide slices of Turkish bread on which was piled a good fistful of ham and three – count them – poached eggs.
And then of course there was the ocean of hollandaise sauce enveloping the whole mass, on top of which was strewn another fistful of rocket leaves.
As I looked over the egg mountain to other tables I realised that everyone was tackling equally huge portions. Two women nearby were trying to finish off some corn fritters that had been accompanied by what looked like a saddle of bacon and a pile of avocado. It was served in a deep-sided pasta plate. The fritters were the sizes of cricket balls.
It’s not just this particular café of course – portion sizes have increased exponentially over the past twenty years. I recall eating in a diner in California in the early 1980s and staring at the huge amounts of food on the plate, wondering aloud how anyone could be expected to eat so much at once. Where once such a huge plate of food would have been the preserve of country-style mixed grills at any pub counter, we can now choose thick-sliced raisin toast the size of the Rosetta Stone, or an offering of a Big Breakfast (“with The Works”) at every café in the country.
Enough already. I want to be able to get up from the table when I’m done and walk out of the café, not waddle. I would like to feel full not stuffed. I do not want to have to loosen a belt in public.
In this day and age of concerns about obesity and the associated impact on our health, it bothers me to see such large helpings. It smacks of quantity rather than quality and a belligerent all-you-can eat approach to feeding ourselves. Ordering my favourite breakfast dish was done without any thought as to what exactly I was shovelling into my mouth, until I realised that I was expected to eat my weekly intake of eggs in one sitting. If we have to re-train ourselves to eat thoughtfully and well – and the burgeoning statistics tell us we do – then shouldn’t we be requesting more acceptable portions and lighter meals in our restaurants and cafes? Can we not request a wider variety of options for our breakfast menus rather than a Big Breakfast? Why for example, can I not have a tasting plate for breakfast, as one would expect at a dinner service. Instead of a variety of bite-sized desserts, why can’t I choose from a blini-sized ricotta cake, a spoonful of fruit compote, an egg baked en cocotte, a few roasted cherry tomatoes?
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At the other end of town, another café also does a roaring trade in weekend breakfast. A recent change of management and a new chef has provided a welcome re-jig to the menu. It was with a sigh of relief that I realised there were some thoughtful options for simpler choices. It was underscored by some great ingredients – organic sourdough bread, free-range eggs from a local supplier, organic produce with an emphasis on taste and seasonality rather than quantity. Amongst the offerings was a rather dubious-sounding ‘Lifestyle breakfast’. On principle I shy away from anything with the words ‘Lifestyle’, or ‘Healthy’ because it invariably leaves out that other descriptor, ‘Tasty’. Nonetheless, I ordered it, if for no other reason than to avoid an egg mountain. It consisted of a thin-sliced piece of toasted Morpeth spelt bread, a single poached egg, and a small rice-bowled serve of fresh fruit – rockmelon, strawberries, pineapple, the first spring blueberries from a local farm - and some great homemade honeyed cinnamon yoghurt on the side. Instead of eating with gusto, it gave me an opportunity to appreciate each mouthful, take in the stunning beachside surroundings, sit back and enjoy the company of my friend as we caught up on gossip. It complemented the occasion, rather than overwhelmed it.
Importantly it allowed the food to speak for itself. There was no cooking involved other than a solitary poached egg. In such stripped back surroundings, the egg simply had to be perfect, and wonderfully it was, pleasantly plump with a glorious unctuous orangey free-range yolk. No masking sauces, no mountains of accompaniments, no tizz. Perfection.
I’m still not sure I like the name ‘Lifestyle Breakfast’, but if it prevents people from having to loosen their belt in public, then I’m all for it.