Breakfast. It is by far my favorite meal of the day. It is the taste of the morning. The taste of waking up, of looking forward to the day. It's the start of the light, the end of the darkness. Okay, you get it, I like breakfast.
And yet, having been to countless restaurants throughout the bay area, only today have I found THE place to call my favorite breakfast spot. I do like Chloe's in Noe Valley, offering the occasional pear and walnut pancakes that are delightful. Toast just down the road is also fairly reliable and offers a wider range of desirable items. Many a day I've gone to Bean Bag Cafe on Divis, it being walkable and pleasantly mediocre. Not in a long time, but a once frequented Blue Jay Cafe is also not a bad choice in a bind. But every one of these lacks that thing. That subtle yet irresistible thing that I've yearned for since childhood. It's a kind of culinary glow, an etheric wash that manifests in gentle and delicate texture, softness around the edges of flavors, and peace in the setting in which these can be appreciated.
Welcome, Dottie's True Blue Cafe. It was maybe a year ago that I first visited the place, and I had been warned of what I was in store for. Sure enough, it was a treat. But that day was a weekday, just before closing and the joint was nearly empty and I had lunch. A very good lunch, though I don't recall what I ate. I do recall the bread. More on that in a moment. Yet for various reasons, the message was delivered but not received. That is to say, in the several times since then that I thought to visit, I passed after driving by and seeing the line around the block. It didn't seem worth it. Today, I would disagree.
Bread is the great white whale of my lifetime eating experience. It is a magical creature born as a paste that blossoms into a castle of crunch and chew. So much of what modern food lacks comes from a focus on shelf life. In worst cases, plastic bagged factory bread is mushy tasteless foam engineered to last the weeks it takes to get from its birth lab to your sandwich. In best cases, a kind baker applies their craft and something delicious is born. But in every case, the true reality of good bread is missed. That is to say, good bread is by design fleeting. It is a paradox of moisture and dryness. Crisp crust is essential for a hearty wheat loaf, yet the desired softness of the custard middle means that in just hours, the bread self-destructs. It sits on the counter bleeding its fragile structure to death.
But in the moments when bread has been just baked and just cooled, there is something special. It's almost like a shine on the texture. A fragile crisp that happens just before the bite. It's daffodils and puffy clouds and long walks on the beach... and now I'm gushing.
Dottie's has tagged the bread puzzle. And when I say bread, I pretty much mean everything that comes out of the oven. Today I had two slices of scallion bread served with apricot preserve. Yes, this is wheat and green onions blended together to give a crumbly yet perfectly crisp and moist pan-seared toast with the hint of savory, grounding the twist of sweetness. I sat there sipping my coffee and eating this thing, feeling flush, almost weepy, like I'd just had a visit from a long lost friend. It was pretty darn good.
Then came my entree: whiskey-fennel sausage, mushroom, and spinach scramble served with cornbread and potatoes. Starting with the cornbread, more of that baking magic. Crisp and light and crumbly in a way that only freshness can offer, it was well done. The eggs were smooth and consistent, not too eggy. Potatoes had a seasoned caramel but not blackened quality that was perfect. And the small chunks of sauteed sausage added just a touch of spice, without overpowering the dish. Solid breakfast, without the slightest hint of pretense.
That's another thing that really ticks me off about most "good" places to eat. Food, like all other things of value, has been commandeered and perverted by classism. The foodies strive for something weird, different, unusual, or rare. Every place servicing the food snobs of the bay has a menu that reads like a foreign film, full of incomprehensible words, and language whose pronunciation some self-righteous staff love to enforce.
I am all for trying what's good. But I think what's good is what's simple. It's not what's different. It's what's the same. It's the core. It's the ability to be so satisfying that it never needs to change. It's goodness that never gets old. That is the heart of what I believe I want from flavor. Simple, reliable, repeatable pleasure, with no requirement for flair. A long term marriage based on respect and deep connection. Not an oily romp with a rubber ball gag.
Dottie's has a long list of muffins, tarts, and choco sweet baked goods that makes me wish I'd found them 25 pounds ago. I avoided most of this. But their list of entrees was nearly unanimously appealing. Something like 15 choices, and probably 11 of them sounded like what I wanted to have right then and there. Every one spoke of simple goodness like cornbread, sausage, toast, eggs, roasted tomatoes, and the like. I just had breakfast, and I feel like I missed out on so much they had to offer. That is a good place to eat.
*sigh* Despite my moment of enthusiasm, I doubt I will go back there tomorrow morning. It might even be a few weeks. But in my heart, I have a peace of mind, that looking out into the city I live in, the city I love, I know another spot where there are folks who do things right. That is a treasure unto itself.
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