The truck tires squeal into two faded white lines facing a ditch. The baseball hat ornament on the mirror swings to a halt. The doors pop open the way they do. Soon we enter the “Stephen King hotel” as we call it, a roadside place to die. The inside looks like The Shining, and we’ve been here before. It’s a cheap motel just outside of Boston, near our favorite breakfast restaurant. The place that serves my favorite latke eggs Benedict recipe.
My dad warmly greets an apathetic front desk worker and then we’re walking up a flight of creaky stairs. The sun streams in through dust-speckled windows. Then, I’m hit with a smell of wet feet and old clothes. With a keycard slide and click, our door creaks open, and I brace myself for something sinister.
He flops his bag down on a hard, high-pitched bed. I gently sit on the other, not letting my bare legs touch the thick, crusty quilt. A faint cough of dust settles in the air. I can feel the springs strain. There is a small, vintage TV on a dark-stained wooden desk, sandwiched between two puce curtains. So I pull them back to reveal a view of the parking lot and the highway. The phone is bolted into the night stand, which is bolted into the floor. Nondescript framed prints of paintings hang on the yellowed paper walls. The sheets are speckled with flowers. The rug is the color of oatmeal. We piece through a pizza menu and I look both ways before crossing the hallway, as we head out for dinner.
Dreaming of Breakfast
When we return from an unremarkable meal, I change into pajamas and reluctantly slip under the covers. My dad is already snoring in his bed. I scroll through my phone and imagine the ways I’m going to die. Every noise curls my toes. Finally I slowly drift off to the smell of nursing home laundry and a lamplight shadow taunting me on the floor.
Then It’s morning and I pack my things quickly. My dad is brushing his teeth. The news plays on the static TV. A historic solar eclipse. There’s a new Ariana Grande album. I hang off the edge of my bed with my shoes on, egging us on to leave. We traverse the creaky stairs again and I look over my shoulder. The scarlet hall is empty, with the exception of the front desk. The worker smiles a little too wide. Then, I’m outside, and I can feel the sun beating on my neck. The sharp flowery smell finally fades into my memory and we’re turning out of the parking lot.
After a short drive, we pull into an American strip mall off the highway. There’s a fitness and nutrition store, a Radio Shack, and a Jewish Deli. My stomach thunders and my heart soars in anticipation. This is the relief after the nightmare. I dream of eating latke eggs Benedict.
The prodigal Latke Eggs Benedict
We swing the door open and it sings. The hostess smiles and exchanges jokes with my dad as my eyes scan the cold case. Rugelach, cinnamon buns, latkes to go. White meat salads. Pastries I’ve never seen. They’re almost at the table so I pull myself away. She smiles and hands us two large, laminated menus with black edges. Then my dad asks for a coffee and thumbs through the sugar packets.
“Whatcha thinking, bud?” He asks.
“My eggs, duh.”
“I’m getting French toast.”
Empire Eggs: Two poached eggs, spinach, lox, and hollandaise on top of our house-made potato latkes. Our version of latke eggs Benedict.
I describe my memories of our last breakfast in poetic detail as my dad stares at the menu a little longer. I look around to see if anyone is eating it so I can confirm that my mystical meal isn’t imaginary. Then we order. She says “good choice.” Then, we talk about baseball, school, friends, my mom. While I’m in the middle of a sentence an angel with an apron hands me a steaming white plate covered in gold. My eyes widen with anticipation.
“Thank you!”
My dad gets his challah French toast which is as thick as a tome, covered in syrup, fruit, and powdered sugar. I reach over my dish as it steams and cut off a bite to eat.
“Hey!” He yells with no intention to stop me.
Then, I grasp my fork and knife and take a deep breath.
Two Runny Eggs
I gaze at my latke eggs Benedict for a moment. I start by piercing the egg yolks. They waterfall into the hollandaise and unveil pink folds of smoked salmon. Dark green leaves of steamed spinach. As I cut, my knife glides and then catches on a nest of crispy fried potatoes. I carefully dissect a triangular section, forking every ingredient and scraping through the sauce pond. Then, I take my first bite. It’s effervescent. I meticulously pick apart the crowns and nearly melt into my chair as my dad talks with his mouth full. By the time we’re done, my plate is bone-dry and the waitress says her usual “so, you guys clearly didn’t like it.”
Lastly, we buy bagels to go and I place them in the back seat with delicate care. We bump and speed on the highway home and I describe the taste again in great detail. Then, we quip back and forth about the hotel. All the ways they could have killed us in the middle of the night. I take a nap against the window, and finally, we’re home. Since then, I’ve made this dish many times for myself and my family. Because having eggs Benedict on crispy potatoes is far better than a hard English muffin.
Thank you for reading! Also, check out my potato latke Benedict recipe cards and prints on Etsy! Use code THEFORKEDRING for 25% off.
Potato Latke Eggs Benedict
Ingredients
- 8 egg yolks
- 3 tbsp lemon juice
- 2 tbsp water
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1 stick unsalted butter
- 1 tbsp white vinegar
- 8 large eggs
- 8 potato pancakes
Instructions
- Fill a large stockpot with water and heat over medium-high until boiling.
- While water is heating, in a medium bowl whisk together egg yolks, lemon juice, water, and salt. In a large saucepan, melt butter.
- Add a spoonful of butter to the egg yolk mixture and whisk quickly.
- Keep adding butter to the egg mixture while whisking until combined.
- Transfer mixture back to the saucepan and cook, while whisking, until thickened.
- Remove from heat and transfer to a heatproof bowl, covering the surface with plastic wrap.
- Once water is boiling, add the vinegar and stir.
- Poach the eggs 4 at a time for 3 1/2 minutes.
- While the eggs are cooking, fry the potato cakes in a shallow pan of vegetable oil.
- Remove eggs with a slotted spoon and place one on top of each potato pancake.
- Coat each egg with the Hollandaise sauce.
Leave a Reply