table talk / By Joseph Byrd

A Breakfast Odyssey, or Breakfasts I Have Known

I have potent memories of Ratner’s, a kosher dairy establishment on the Lower East Side. Velvety lox (the best is called “Nova Scotia Salmon” — the fatter North Atlantic fish is a major step up from Pacific) and the rarer but no less wonderful smoked freshwater whitefish, sometimes served together on a platter with cream cheese and bagels. Cheese blintzes made from scratch, often accompanied by sour cherry jam, in the Polish style. Latkes — the potatoes coarsely shredded to give more surface crispness. Knishes with pastry like Southern piecrust and filling redolent of caramelized onion. Beet borscht, with a dollop of sour cream. Oy, I almost left out gefilte fish. Forget that sorry stuff you see in jars in the store; real gefilte fish is a poached pike quenelle, a dumpling lightened by stiffly beaten egg whites, served with creamed horseradish.

If dairy restaurants were all I could cite, that would be enough. But there is also delicatessen (Yiddish/Altdeutsch for “delicious edibles”). Speaking of lost local gems, one of the best delis I’ve known was The Best Revenge in Eureka in the late 1980s. Scraps of corned beef, pastrami and tongue from the slicer were used as filling for addictive meat knishes.

Whew! A long journey from steak and apple pie.

But wait! My co-conspirator, culinary writer Linda Eckhardt, asks, “If breakfast were to be your last meal on earth, what would it be?” Excellent question.

So, at the end of an all-night party, breakfast for us and six guests, at Auberge de Soleil, overlooking the Napa vineyards, in the fall, just before harvest. We’d start with vintage Roederer Cristal 1997 Brut Rosé Champagne and raw Kumamoto oysters with Beni’s mignonette of lime juice and zest, Pepper Plant Sauce and horseradish. Then tiny cones of gravlax stuffed with crab and topped with caviar.

Second course: I’ve always loved fried mashed potato cakes (bound with egg), and Yellow Finns are a perfect vehicle for black truffles. I’d shave some into the mixture — lots, actually — then cook them in goose fat. Paper-thin bacon would go well with that, so let’s import a cave-aged Pancetta Stufata. (Since U.S. Customs doesn’t allow it in the country, we’ll have someone bring it over by private jet. And as long as he’s in Europe, why not stop by Paris for truffles, foie gras, Vacherin and macaroons?) With the potato cake and pancetta, we’d have Eggs Picabia, and a roasted poblano/Seville orange/pineapple salsa. Followed by Pinot Noir grape sorbet, as palate-cleanser.

Third: seared foie gras with black, white and red salts, and toasted brioche, a small salad of wild fruits, frisée and Calvados jelly, accompanied by a 1986 Chateau Raymond-Lafon Sauternes.

Fourth, communal containers of Vacherin, an unpasteurized cheese so runny it must be eaten right from the box with a spoon. Fifth, macaroons from Ladurée in Paris, and French-press Kopi Luwak coffee with heavy cream. What a way to go!

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