The origin of classic Eggs Benedict is somewhat fuzzy. There are two conflicting stories that seem
to be about 30 years apart in age.
Ironically almost everything else in either story is the same: A banker type named Benedict wants something ‘different’
making the kitchen produce a dish to
their whim of which the maitre d’ ends up manipulating and respectively names Benedict
and puts it on his menu. Seems almost
sarcastic as if to say, and I imagine it in a very snotty French accent, “You
want to make up your own dish, fine, I will change it and forever connect your
name with this horribly annoying preparation.
Ha.” I’ve never had Eggs Benedict
at a restaurant that I’ve actually enjoyed, but I do enjoy the idea of a
poached egg on an English muffin.
Unlike what I’ve received on the local restaurant brunch buffet
I like my muffin toasted, egg warm, and sauce to be more like a sauce and less
like a cloying stabilized pad of cheap butter.
Since making Hollandaise sauce at home for a single portion is totally
unrealistic toss that out the window.
Other than that I enjoy my ghetto Eggs Benedict.
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