Terroir’s menu is kind of insane. Each location has a crazy menu disguised as a binder full of detailed wine notes, tips and tricks. It’s essentially a long, disorganized essay of witty wino banter. It’s almost too lengthy for a restaurant setting but definitely worth reading at home. So yeah, that’s your homework after reading this post.

We took the advice of our cute and spunky hipster waitress (I swear the Terroir hipsters are different – people you actually want to talk to who aren’t totally idiotic in every sense of the word) and ordered a bottle of Schioppettino. Sure, it was pricey for us, but totally worth it. I can’t describe wine so I won’t even bother, but let’s just say this variety warrants an hour long (unsuccessful) search through several wine shops in Manhattan on a lonely Thursday evening. If you see it at Terroir or another wine bar, just get it. You’ll be happy.

The rest of the night was just as successful as the wine: we split a bunch of items from the menu, most of which is composed of small plates and sides. Some standouts were the duck salad (despite its simplistic appearance), the meatballs and nutella-like budino dessert. Check it:

Duck Prosciutto Mushrooms, Stinky Cheese

Brussel Sprout Frittata

Frisée, Crispy Duck Confit, Gorgonzola, Shallot

Veal and Ricotta Meatballs

Chocolate Budino + Candied Hazelnuts

But then of course there’s the reality check: this was a celebratory wegotanapartmentYAY night, and can’t happen all the time. Restraint must be practiced after I move, as I’ll be too close to Terroir and other classy (read: expensive) Tribeca establishments. Life is hard. Until I can have another night like this, I’ll be packing, unpacking and eating take-out from styrofoam boxes. Good times.

But I just can’t get enough. Like my three-year-long Mexican food obsession (don’t ask), I’ve been thinking about not only fantastical Italian restaurant experiences, but also all of the delicious creations to come out of my kitchen in the future: gnocchi, homemade ravioli, meatballs, a fab Fra Diavolo, branzino, biscotti, and cannoli, to name a few. Yeah – I dream big.

This past week, I checked off one of the items on my Italian food list: lasagna. Or lasagne, if you’re legit Italian/know what you’re talking about. The last time I made lasagna I chose very, um, different ingredients – ingredients that bring me back to crunchy vintage Sofia days. This time I around I indulged my meaty cravings and made a mini-meatball layered lasagna with a red Italian sausage sauce. I bought fancy ricotta and mixed that with a ton of parmesan and mozzarella for the cheese mixture and layered this all between regular old lasagna noodles.

And damn, it was good. And meaty. And I proceeded to eat lasagna four nights in a row for dinner. (Maybe I am sorry for that, as I got a little sick of it by night four.) Make this lasagna and freeze half of it portioned into mini plastic containers so you’ll have a quick, comforting and hearty meal with the press of a couple microwave buttons. Like the microwave itself (let’s talk about how I grew up without one and they still weird me out), this stuff is magical.

Rubirosa Lasagne

From Saveur

INGREDIENTS

• ½ cup plus 2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 ½ lb. sweet Italian sausage, casings removed
• 2 ribs celery, minced
• 1 large yellow onion, minced
• 1 medium carrot, minced
• 1 cup red wine
• 2 28-oz. cans whole peeled tomatoes in juice, crushed
• 2 bay leaves
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 5 oz. each ground beef, veal, and pork
• ⅓ cup seasoned Italian bread crumbs
• 5 tbsp. finely chopped parsley
• 3 tbsp. finely grated pecorino
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 slices country white bread, soaked in ½ cup water, drained, squeezed dry
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• ½ small yellow onion, minced
• 2 cups whole-milk ricotta
• 2 cups shredded mozzarella
• 1 ½ cups finely grated parmesan
• 8 oz. lasagna noodles, cooked

INSTRUCTIONS

1. To make the sauce: heat 2 tbsp. oil in a 6-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat. Add sausage; cook, stirring to break up large pieces, until browned, about 6 minutes; drain off fat. Add celery, large onion, and carrot; cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Add wine; cook until reduced by half, about 7 minutes. Add tomatoes and bay leaves, reduce heat to medium; cook until reduced and thick, about 1 hour. Season with salt and pepper; set aside.
2. To make the meatballs: mix beef, veal, pork, breadcrumbs, 2 tbsp. parsley, pecorino, garlic, white bread, eggs, onion, and salt and pepper in a bowl; form into about 60, ½″ meatballs. Heat remaining oil in a 12″ skillet over medium-high heat; working in batches, add meatballs, and cook until browned all over, about 8 minutes. Set aside.
3. To make the lasagne: Heat oven to 350°. Mix ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan in a bowl; set aside. Spread ¼ of the sauce in bottom of a 9″ × 13″ baking dish; top with ⅓ of the noodles. Top with ⅓ remaining sauce, followed by ⅓ of the cheeses; spread meatballs evenly over cheeses. Top with half remaining noodles; add half remaining sauce and half remaining cheese. Add remaining noodles, sauce, and then cheeses; bake until bubbly and browned on top, about 50 minutes. Sprinkle with remaining parsley.

BT and I sauntered in at 5PM for brinner (brunch and dinner… together) this past Saturday. I’m rarely eating at this hour so I was surprised to see the Upper West Side parenting parties with the kiddies taking place, but whatever – it comes with the territory. We started with a huge plate of three types of pickles, the special sours, salt & pepper asparagus and the hot sours. I liked the hot sours the best, naturally, and the pickled asparagus was pretty solid too. A brine-y good time for an appetizer for sure.

At Jacob’s, you’ve gotta get beer with your meal. Trust me. I started with an Ommegang-Abbey ale, then moved onto something else that I can’t remember the name of. They’ve got an interesting beer menu to peruse, so my nascent beer curiosity was most certainly piqued.

I admired the exposed brick (and admittedly, the babies – there was a little girl at the table next to us named Sofia!) and rustic pub-like yet classy vibe of the place, while we waited for our entrees. I also drank my beers relatively faster than usual to cut the saltiness of the massive plate of pickles we had eaten. Next time I’ll go the fried pickle route… which will also necessitate much beer drinking. Oh well.

The menu at Jacob’s is sort of limited. You’ve got a few fried chicken sandwiches, some salads and a splash of seafood. Obviously I had to get a sandwich, because I felt like any other menu option would be sort of weak. (Except maybe the mac and cheese, but I’ll save that for a return visit.) I ended up with the Honey Chicken & Pickles biscuit-wich with buttermilk fried chicken, hot sours and local honey. This is a serious biscuit sandwich: the honey with the fried chicken was a fantastic touch, and then paired with the sour and heat of the spicy pickles? Perfection. And of course a buttery biscuit instead of plain old bread really put this thing over the top. Man. Oh. Man.

BT went with the Sausage Gravy Smothered Chicken with buttermilk with fried chicken. He devoured this hefty little biscuit-wich, along with the somewhat soupy cheesy grits on the side. Yum.

By the time dessert rolled around, we were both a little too full for anything more. But when has that stopped us? Let’s be real. We had to try the Biscuit Bourbon Bread Pudding, which wasn’t outer-worldly, but I do appreciate buttery sweetness at the end of any meal, so I can’t really say anything immensely negative about this dish. Next time, though, I’d opt for ice cream nearby to cut all the fried and salty goodness. Obviously.

Jacob’s Pickles was so good that I didn’t really knock another restaurant off my Upper West Eat Out list, which is both good and bad. I’m hoping to try the Fried Pickles and Obligatory Mac and Cheese (yes, the menu calls it that) during my next visit. And some more beer varieties to broaden my fermented wheat-y beverage horizons. I’m all about expanding my mind and getting a little pickled every now and then. Yeah… I’m so funny.

I sure am. My weekend flew by too quickly while I was busy engaging in both very adult and childlike activities. It was a doozy, I’ve gotta say. On Friday night, BT and I signed the lease on our new apartment which we’ll move into at the end of January. We celebrated with delightful red wine and some fancy bar food. On Saturday, after feasting on pickles, beer and hearty biscuit sandwiches at a new local spot, I spent the evening celebrating the Ex-Roomie’s 26th birthday, dancing away to oldies, pop and a little bit o’ hip hop at a bar in Williamsburg, and maybe (just maybe) getting a late-night protein snack around 3AM. And on Sunday I recovered, grabbing brunch with a friend and later, taking on another new tedious cooking project.

I’m finding a wonderful sense of calm in the laborious Sunday afternoon meal. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I need to bang out a slamming meal that can last me all week, and last week’s mac and cheese certainly hit the spot. (This week’s lasagna I’ll share with you all at a later date. But first let’s focus on the mac and cheesiness, cool?)

So yeah. This is me with my masterpiece. I hate cooking mid-week (my job drives me to post-work wine and laziness on most days), so making this much mac and cheese for just two people was necessary. We’ve got hearty appetites and take eating very seriously around here, so when I plan to make a mac and cheese it’s not just gonna be any old recipe. Here’s where The New Brooklyn Cookbook comes in handy: it’s packed with recipes from some of the top restaurants in what many would argue is the coolest borough. And though I signed a lease on a Manhattan apartment, I know I’ll enjoy my proximity to Brooklyn, and several more recipes from this book.

This mac and cheese comes from DuMont, a fab restaurant in Williamsburg that I’ve been to a few times. DuMont serves up your seemingly standard New American fare, with a focus on burgers and other comfort foods. And mac and cheese fits the comfort profile just perfectly: it pairs well with a hearty red, a side of leafy greens and a warm bed. Or is that just me who eats dinner in bed? Hm. Maybe after I move and have my own living room to play in I’ll change up my routine again. Until then, I’ll be curling up under blankets with a bowl of DuMac and Cheese. Life is good.

DuMac and Cheese

From The New Brooklyn Cookbook

Serves 6

• 1 pound radiatore, elbow macaroni, or fusilli
• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 2 cups whole milk
• 2 1/2 cups heavy cream
• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 pound Gruyère, grated, divided
• 1/2 pound sharp white cheddar, grated, divided
• Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup unseasoned bread crumbs

1. Preheat the oven to 400° F.

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the pasta al dente, according to the package directions. Drain, toss with the olive oil in a large bowl, and set aside to cool.

3. Meanwhile, combine the milk and cream in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat; bring to a gentle simmer.

4. Melt the butter in a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the flour and whisk until the flour is fully incorporated and the mixture is smooth. Continue mixing with a wooden spoon until the mixture is a pale golden color, about 4 minutes. Slowly add the hot milk and cream mixture to the flour mixture, whisking constantly to incorporate. Bring to a simmer, whisking occasionally to keep the mixture from burning. Add half the Gruyère and half the cheddar and whisk until the cheese has melted and the sauce is smooth. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

5. Add the cooked pasta and toss well to combine. Pour the pasta into a buttered 9 x 13-inch baking dish or a 3-quart gratin dish. Top with the remaining Gruyère and cheddar and sprinkle with the bread crumbs. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden and bubbly. Allow the mac and cheese to rest for 5 minutes before serving.

Yeah… it sounds like I’ve been doing too much yoga lately. Sometimes I should probably just take a chill pill, kick back, and eat a sandwich.

…which is just what I did earlier this week. BT had been raving for months about Parisi Bakery, his favorite Italian deli in New York. I’d heard of the place but had never actually been, despite the fact that I grew up only five or so blocks away. As a kid, my idea of Italian food was takeout baked ziti from Pomodoro Pizza on Spring Street, which is more of a dive bar that also happens to serve pizza and Italian dishes. While we waited for our order, my brother and I would play pinball and try to drown out the noise of the somewhat unpleasant bar scene. Good times.

But I digress. Parisi is the real deal. It’s a regular deli/sandwich shop, in many respects – there’s no seating, a line out the door, and some sandwich specials to choose from, and of course, whatever the heck you want on whatever kind of freshly baked bread they’ve still got for the day. What sets it apart is the freshness of every ingredient – the mozzarella from Joe’s Dairy, the fresh pesto, house-made everything and of course the fresh bread. This place is family-owned and you can really tell by just how friendly and normal the staff and customers are.

After purchasing our monstrously large sandwiches, BT and I wandered over to a nearby Starbucks to assess the sandwich situation (and eat). BT’s sandwich, pictured two photos above, was made of chicken cutlet, prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, roasted red pepper, jalapeño and pesto, on some of the most delicious Ciabatta bread I’ve had. My sandwich, half of which I’m holding, was as big as my head (which, according to BT, is pretty big). It had pepper turkey, fresh mozzarella, roasted red pepper and jalapeño on a whole wheat roll. Despite our lifetime membership to the Clean Plate Club, neither of us could eat the entire sandwich, and ended up with half of a Parisi sandwich for lunch, and the other half for dinner that same day. $10 for a day’s worth of food? Not too shabby, and incredibly delicious. You won’t be hungry after a Parisi sandwich – that’s for sure.

What is it that makes a dining experience truly great? I’m no food critic, and I can’t properly use big words to describe the nuances of a dish. I do, however, know when a place feels right. It’s a vibe, a sensation, a man I’m really glad I’m eating here at this moment kind of feeling. And The Dutch delivers just that. Oh, it’s also got some of the most delicious food I’ve eaten in quite some time.

Chosen by Sam Sifton as the top new NYC restaurant of 2011, I came with high expectations. To be completely honest, I made the reservation – like many others will do, I’m sure – after reading this Times article and feeling obligated to finally eat at a Carmellini establishment. I’d perused the menu a few times before, attempted (and failed) a late-night drop-in at Locanda Verde, but had yet to actually experience this surreal kind of dining experience. At 10AM on a Tuesday I snagged a cancelled reservation for 7:45 on a Wednesday. It was meant to be, huh?

So I don’t describe food very well and I write a food(ish) blog. Okay. But how do I begin to discuss the actual dining room? Well, there are two, and we were whisked away to the one I didn’t even know existed to the left of the entrance. I sat in a neat little alcove with BT across from me, and a view of a spacious area filled with happy eaters. The cornbread we were given to start may have helped, too, as it was supremely buttery and spicy with jalapeño and chives.

For our appetizers, we chose the beet salad with two different types of beets, apple, a delicious herb-y yogurt sauce and a touch of green stuff. I spooned the sauce on top of the perfectly cooked beets and almost died at first bite. Who knew a beet salad could be this good?

BT ordered the smoked liverwurst with huckleberries and ale bread, which isn’t really my thing, but he really loved and devoured.

We also got a side of Brussels sprouts with bacon and horseradish, since Brussels are my jam. There were also some breadcrumb-like things on top of the Brussels, which made this a truly delightful side. I’d love to recreate this at home, or at least attempt to.

As we waited for our main courses, BT couldn’t resist the cornbread, and I don’t blame him. The stuff was out of control.

Meanwhile, I was enjoying my woman of the house seat.

For our entrees, BT ordered the rabbit pot pie, which was just as visually stunning as our waitress (who I failed to mention earlier was awesome) described: upon cracking open the dome, BT was met with tender pieces of rabbit in a creamy but not-too-heavy sauce. I was a tad jealous.

My meal, however, didn’t leave much room for jealousy or second guesses as to what I should have ordered, as it was pretty spot on.

I got the sea scallops with saffron rice and gumbo sauce. Sadly, I was so full from the appetizers that I could barely eat the dish by the time it reached me, but the flavors were great – the foam had this wonderful spicy kick (paprika? cayenne? who knows) and each scallop was artfully placed with pepper and bacon-y bits on top. I was pleased, and am especially happy that I will get to re-experience this dish (reheated in the microwave since I’m classy) later in the week.

And how could we not get dessert, overly full or not? After all, the Dutch apple pie was one of the special pies of the evening, and this little piece of heaven truly sealed the deal: the crumbly crust and walnut ice cream with some creamy apple filling all in one bite? Life is good, and was especially stellar at this moment in time, at The Dutch in SoHo, in my favorite city I call home. This whole meal was not only delicious but feel-good from start to finish, and I’m hoping to return for brunch (they take reservations!) and another dinner as soon as possible. I’d recommend you do the same.

Hudson Street runs through a classic area of Greenwich Village. With its great width and space for diverse architecture from Chambers to 14th streets, the street is a very liberating breath of fresh air of sorts as compared to the convoluted windy village blocks just East of Hudson. I went to elementary school on Hudson between Grove and Christopher streets and spent many an afternoon exploring St. Luke’s Garden just across the street. And then I returned to Hudson just after my twenty-first birthday, where I resided –between Jane and Horatio streets – for one year. During this time I was never able to afford any of the neighborhood’s food offerings since I was a broke (read: guilt-ridden and overly privileged) NYU student. Lucky for me, I now live in a slightly less expensive neighborhood and I’m employed and no longer a student, so I can afford to eat at food spots on Hudson street besides Hudson Falafel and Rivoli Pizza, my two favorites as a kid. Not that there’s anything wrong with a plain slice and Italian ices at Rivoli… but these days I like to do it up a bit. Drink some wine and let my hair down, you know?

We were seated immediately because we arrived after 10PM on a Monday. (Have I mentioned I love vacation?) To start, we ordered a bottle of Lambrusco Dell’Emilia, and some Mexican non-high fructose corn syrup coke, for naturally-induced sugar high fun. I don’t care how retro the bubbly red is, but I love my lambrusco and will order it at a restaurant whenever I can. Done and done.

For our appetizer, we had to get the Meatballs with Pine Nuts & Raisins since I’m kind of a ball-fiend these days. (Hardy har har?) I’ve recently had Kefi’s balls and have since ventured beyond my beloved shop. And I’m glad I did, because these did not disappoint. Pine nuts and raisins in a meatball? The perfect combination of richness and sweetness, in my opinion. And the Franks aren’t skimpy with their sweet tomato sauce, which is hard to come by these days. I’d like an extra quart of red sauce on everything, thank you.

BT ordered the Cavatelli with Faicco’s Hot Sausage & Browned Sage Butter. Though the cavatelli was a bit on the heavy side, the hot sausage was spot-on – seriously spicy with a hefty hand of pepper and kick.

I ordered the Pappardelle with Lamb Ragù & Tarragon. News alert: I’ve recently become obsessed with lamb ragùs after trying a bite of BT’s from a recent outing at Cotta, and this ragù was something special alright. And house-made pasta with that great red sauce to go with it? Well damn. You could have sent me home right then and I would’ve been a happy girl.

…but only after my dose of vegetables and bread to dip into the red sauce. We went with the Roasted Brussels Sprouts, which were served cold like antipasti. Oily and salty and good: that’s all you need to know about these guys.

For dessert, BT and I split the Ricotta Ice Cream with Oat Crumble, which looked like some sort of egg/orb of sorts, but was cute in its own way. At the moment I felt cheated by its petite size, but twenty minutes later appreciated just how delicious these few savory/sweet ricotta ice cream bites were. This was the perfect end to one of the best Italian meals I’ve had in quite some time.

On the subway ride home I took an obnoxious couple-y picture which I must share here because that’s what girlfriends are for. At this moment in time, I was blabbing on about how delicious Frankies was while BT was nodding in agreement and scoring some serious points on his “Learn Spanish” iPhone app. Yeah, I think I’ll keep him as my main dining partner for this vacation. Together, we’re a talented Italian food-eating machine. Tomorrow night we’ll venture outside of our cuisine of comfort and try something new. More on that to come!

But I do light a menorah over the eight nights of Chanukah. Why? I’ve never really done Christmas. I never had a tree, never gathered with my immediate/extended family to exchange presents, nor have I ever woken up to a dozen of them on Christmas morning. My parents gave my brother and I Chanukah gifts as kids (I was all about American Girl Dolls and their overpriced accessories for years) but beyond that I’ve always felt sort of, I don’t know… left out… on Christmas day. My Christmas tradition, up until this year, was waking up in a snowy Vermont inn I would be staying at with my family, donning layers of long-johns, snow pants and skiing gear and loading the car up to head to the mountain. We were those ski vacation Jews, calling local restaurants on Christmas eve and day to determine where we could get a meal on a cold and dark holiday evening. (For the record, we often settled on takeout Chinese food from China Fun in Waitsfield, Vermont.)

This year, however, was different. A little less lonely, for sure, and filled with a bit more Christmas cheer than I’m used to. For one: BT surprised me with a tree he lugged home one night with a friend. We decorated it with multi-colored Christmas lights and three ornaments: a menorah, the Flatiron building and the taco bell Chihuahua with a Santa hat, ’cause that’s how we do. I made us a delightful Chanukah meal with latkes a la Smitten. There were presents placed under the tree for the eight nights of Chanukah, and presents reserved for BT’s family Christmas celebration on Long Island. Santa even made an appearance:

And of course there was the food! Italian Catholic Christmas is no joke, and I did my fair share of eating and drinking over the weekend: there was the four hour Christmas eve dinner with the kids (including a three year old girl who’s obsessed with me) and a six hour Christmas day dinner with the adults (and plenty of booze). And the Buche de Noel that I still can’t stop talking about, because it was that good.

Now that Christmas is over and Chanukah is coming to an end, I’m feeling exhausted but fulfilled. And a bit overly full of sweets, too. I got a good amount of family time in (though it wasn’t my own family, I still feel like I’ve done my share for some time – don’t worry Mom, I’ll make an exception for you) and I can’t say it was a lonely holiday season. So when you feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree… find a nice Catholic boyfriend who will sweep you off your feet enough to make his non-Jewishness totally acceptable and a whole lot of fun.

Happy holidays, friends.

Lucky for us working folk there’s a thing called personal days and I will take advantage. BT and I made our Thanksgiving weekends extra long by taking off the Monday after the holiday, so we decided it was the best day to finally  try to get seated within a reasonable amount of time at La Piazza. We were told the wait was twenty minutes, which is totally manageable. So after wandering Eataly’s aisles (and picking up a mocha) we were seated. Almost immediately after ordering, we were served the special antipasti of the day with delicious balsamic coated butternut squash rings, figs and shredded Brussels sprouts. And of course some bread with some of the best olive oil - La Mozza - I’d had in awhile. (We ended up picking up a bottle of the stuff.)

For our main lunch courses (go big or go back to work?) we ordered the Pasta al Forno al Ragù, a lasagne with traditional Italian ragu.

Well damn. It’s lasagna, Mario Batali style. Need I say more?

We also split the Verduretta pizza with mozzarella, eggplant, zucchini, red and yellow peppers, tomato sauce, grana padano and fresh basil. The crust was thin and crispy and the cheese to tomato sauce ratio was perfect. I like.

Don’t expect to sit and linger at La Piazza – the service is almost too quick, allowing for a picture such as the one above. But I’ve gotta say this was definitely worth the several month wait. In the meantime, I’m thinking up a list of restaurants I’ve wanted to go to for awhile that I can finally hit up over vacation… with all the holiday season tourists, of course, at 2PM on a Monday. Any ideas? I need some menus to peruse in between finishing up my monthly reports and case notes. Help a sister out, please.

Lucky for me, life is full of pleasant surprises. Sometimes we really can impress ourselves. Sure, I still often doubt the path I’ve chosen and the choices I’ve made, but ultimately, I’m confident (for now, at least) that I’m headed in the right direction.

If you had told me two years ago that not only would I work toward some tangible career goals but that I’d also make a breakfast as classically delicious as this, I too would’ve laughed in your face. And tell you that I hated eggs, so what was the point in poaching them anyway?! Yes, it’s true – I’m an egg convert. Now that I’ve moved past the somewhat pedestrian (and not-so-delicious) omelet, I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with the egg. So cheap. So nutritious (in moderation, of course). And so beautiful when poached to perfection.

Notice the egg on the left is a bit… overdone. Yeah. I’m workin’ on it. Just as I haven’t quite “made it” as a social worker (I’m new and need some time to figure this stuff out, after all), my poaching skills aren’t quite there yet. But the fact that I can, at this point in my life, sort of poach an egg, is awesome and totally surprising. So long as I keep honing my skills, noting my deficits and maintain an effort to improve not only myself as a professional, but also my ability to make a mean Sunday brunch, I think I’m headed in the right direction. If the path I’ve chosen leads to delicious poached eggs at the end, I’ll keep on it for now.

Can-Do Eggs Florentine

serves 2

1. Make some Hollandaise sauce. I followed this recipe which was a bit too rich for my tastes. I’d lower the butter content a bit (maybe six or seven tablespoons of butter instead of ten?) next time around.
2. Poach four eggs. Or however many eggs you fancy, really. As for my poaching method: I trust Deb with all things cooking-related, especially those that I initially fear.
3. Steam approximately 3 ounces (1/2 bag) of baby spinach. Mix a couple of chunks of salted butter with the spinach for good measure.
4. Lightly toast four slices of bread. I used Zabar’s 9-grain bread, which is a friendlier whole grain bread – airy and light but immensely flavorful.
5. Finally, the assembly process: butter the bread, pile on the spinach, then poached egg, followed by a hefty drizzle of Hollandaise. Cut the poached egg open with a fork, and eat up.