Last night was spent at a Bed and Breakfast. This was my first BnB and it was a terrible experience. I won’t name the location because, well, that’s not what this is about, but it was bad. The mattresses were lumpy, the room was sweltering, and the fly (thankfully only the one) was persistent. So, this morning, we opted out of the next two nights there, booked two rooms at a local chain, and agreed to forge anew for breakfast at a place my sister swears is the bomb.

Bella’s is self-described “upscale comfort food” and that is an accurate description.

First the obligatory V-Lat: served in a large cup and right hot. Something I learned in Seattle is that the “preferred temperature” for a latte is not-too-hot. Some of the stores refused java jackets because they believe if your drink is hot enough for that they haven’t done their jobs. That’s Seattle – this is the east coast where it actually gets cold several months of the year, so making a hot drink hot is acceptable. And I’m good with that, it instills in the patron a degree of patience – something we could all use a little more of. The espresso part of the latte is quite different from the west coast. I know I should know the words to describe the difference, but, in the words of my junior high composition teacher “this is not a research paper” (credit – Barb Bickel, wherever you are).

French Toast Bella
Challah at your boy!

I ordered the special because I didn’t come all the way out here to be bored. Now, for those of you who know me, this was a very atypical selection – French Toast.This was incredibly rich but absolutely amazing. French toast is something I typically do not like, but the idea of roasted peanuts with sliced bananas and peanut butter was too much to decline. The peanut butter sort of melted in the heat of things, and it was all topped with homemade whipped cream (see yesterday’s post). Whoever created this deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.

Mom had a standard – two eggs over hard, bacon, and hash browns. The bacon was the true essence of smoked bacon, not just covered in smoke juice. I don’t know where they got their bacon, but Indiana better watch out. The bacon was moderately crispy with an excellent mouthfeel. I prefer my bacon just barely still chewy, but able to hold some shape, but this was great. What I cannot stand is when it’s crispy to the point that it shatters like crystal in your mouth. The hash browns were larger chunks of potatoes cooked with green onions and they were perfect – none of them burned nor rare. I even got one little piece of crispy potato skin – a delicacy where I come from.

Emily had corned beef hash. Normally not a fan because it’s garbage. Literally. Corned beef hash how you make people eat the corned beef they didn’t want to the night before or that you over-ordered. This though, was completely different – it was a dish someone had intentionally created with intent to redefine the dish. I noticed, however, that there was a wonderful green pepper flavor to it – typically bell peppers are so tame that they end up being nondescript green coloring in a mess on a plate, but here they had real flavor. It was like the running back that threw for a touchdown that one time – I’ll never forget it! The onion was great and it played the role onion is supposed to – it is supporting actor only. And here it was! So often, cooks/chefs cut all of the onion and end up using what they have to fill out a plate. Tis better to have properly balanced flavors than a full plate. Plus, onions give me dyspepsia. She also had two eggs over easy and hash browns.

After trying their food, I was actually struck but how little salt there was in the meal. Typically, a few bites of corned beef hash is like saddling up to a salt-lick, but here there was none added and none needed. So often, salt is used to mask substandard ingredients – of which there were none here.

We went our ways and Mom and I went to the mall because SOMEBODY forgot to pack shoes. Most of you read that as me blaming my mother for not packing shoes, but it was actually me. And it was intentional (or so we’re pretending) because they have an ALDO here (in Milford). Having acquired shoes, a tie, brass collar stays (one of my favorite luxuries in life), we made our pilgrimage to the Milford Photo Shop because cameras. In the meantime, Mom popped over to Cafe Atlantique, a little cafe Emily and I visited four years ago when I moved her in. If memory serves, their lox is outstanding. And I bought a camera. And then I met her there and bought another V-Lat. This was quite nice – the milk was just underfoamed (if it had been overfoamed it would have been a cappuccino!), but it worked well. And who do you think waltzed in but the owner of Bistro Basque! He’s probably the owner here, too.

So we made our way to the new hotel, tested the mattresses (Mom-approved), and plugged the battery into the wall for the D7200, which will hopefully provide some good images for my sister’s graduation tonight.

Some of you may be wondering why I don’t have any pictures of the actual food from this morning. I gave the phone to my sister (she had a better angle, and I was kind of wedged in, plus hard back-lighting from the window front) and when I checked my phone afterwards there was only the one pictures I had taken of the menu. Oh well, worse things have happened, like the unpleasant BnB from the night before. I had been assured by my sister that it appeared “very Bob Newhartish” on the internet which prompted enough questions to overload an Amazon server.

Well, the rollers are in, the clock is ticking, and I think I should be getting ready for grad. Until next time!