Dreaming

Some people dream of social justice, others of world peace. I dream of the perfect corned beef hash. And what a better morning to dream of it, than the day after everyone has corned and boiled their beef.

There used to be in Pasadena, years ago, Rose City Diner on Fair Oaks, before its incarnation as Ruby's, then La Huasteca, then another empty restaurant. It was an old-style diner that served corned beef and hash. Like another favorite, the Grinder on PCH, the hash was made of steamy hot potatoes tender on the inside and crisp on the outside; sauteed onions, and slices of corned beef. All this topped with two eggs of your choice. I always ordered poached, since that's something I've never been able to master. (Joy of Cooking tells you to add vinegar to the boiling water, drop in the eggs and swirl gently; I think I'm pretty good, but not that good). Alas, time and tastes change, and that diner no longer exists. And yet I insist on ordering this dish, hope triumphing over experience. The last place I tried was in Eagle Rock, Pat and Lorraine's, where they filmed the best scene of Reservoir Dogs, the opening, which ends in argument about under-tipping the waitress. In other words, a place of dreams.

The waitress brought my melamine plate of breakfast, along with toast to sop up the yolk. Sigh. Someone had opened a can of the stuff, heated it on the griddle, and plated it. That can is one half step up from dog food. I fought the urge to under tip.

I guess I'm gonna have to attempt it myself. Mebbe even tomorrow. If that doesn't work out, I'll shoot for plan b: the perfect Reuben sandwich. Any food dreams of your own?