Eggs have become my obsession. Chicken eggs, that is, although I'll take what the universe gives me. I am just lovin' 'em. A little while ago I wrote extensively about the topic of breakfast, a topic which I've endured a much-maligned relationship with over the years.
And I found a way to turn the corner.
That's my three-egg omelette in the picture. It includes crimini mushrooms, as you can see, along with some thinly-sliced local garlic and a few grass-fed cheese curds from up the road in Castlegar, BC. It was drool-worthy. I've been practicing. As far as the garlic goes, well, I guess that's one of the perks of betrothal. And working from home.
It kind of got me thinking about breakfast and wine. Naturally, sparklers have long been a favourite. Few things get me in the feels as much as a nice bottle of Cava (or Champagne, if I'm not on a beer budget) and a hot, buttered, golden hunk of toast covered in mackerel. Perhaps with an egg on top. Depending how I feel. It's genuinely food-gasmic. I literally moan.
But what about the omelette? Sure, Champagne goes with absolutely fucking everything. We already know that.
So, let's look at this particular omelette and see what inspiration is drawn.
Methinks we should start with the egg.
While I like to make sure my omelette is *moist* (but not runny) on the inside, there's no denying that an omelette is a more thoroughly cooked form of les oeufs, at least compared to the runny beauty of a couple yolks facing the sun. We're dealing with a more delicate texture. You know what a yolk is like. It's thicck. With two c's. AND a k. It gloms onto your plate and it sticks. It requires a pre-scrub to get it off the plate before you load it into the dishwasher. And that's why I think the bubbles and acid in sparkling wine is such an effective cleanser when it comes to runny eggs.
With the omelette, we have no such problem. We can open up the spectrum a little. And that's exciting. If sunnyside-up is the cap of a ribeye, an omelette is lean sirloin.
An omelette is protein, but it's still dainty. Light reds, medium-to-full whites. Let's get specific.
Garlic. It's pungent. It's got intensity. We don't want it to crush the flavour of something delicate. I'm saving my Moscato d'Asti for the macaron course. We need something with equal savoury punch to stand up. I like the idea of a salty white. Albariño. Malvazija from the Istrian Peninsula. If you're feeling dirty and you wanna make this for lunch, maybe a nice Txakoli would do ya.
Mushrooms. Well, everyone and their dog (and for good reason) appreciates some Pinot Noir with a mushroom. It makes sense. They carry this delicate complexity that escapes words. So, Pinot. For sure. Nice. Something from Germany might fit the bill. They call it Spätburgunder. You want savoury tones and a delicate profile. Something from a cooler climate. Think Willamette Valley over Carneros. Think 50th parallel rather than 40th parallel. Think Sonoma Coast instead of Russian River. Or scrap it altogether and go with Chiroubles or Chenas or any Beaujolais cru, really, because I'd be talking out of my ass more than I already am if I was to attempt to wax about their subtle or not-so-subtle differences. Also, maybe try a Dolcetto d'Alba. Poulsard. Blaufränkisch. Zweigelt. The less you are able to understand the name of the wine as an English speaker, the better. But don't quote me on that.
Cheese curds. These grass-fed puppies are salty, tangy, and squeaky. And elegantly rich. God, I sound waspy. Rhône whites. Throw some texture at this. Rich whites from further south could be dynamite. I'm thinking of a La Clape AOC white from Chateau d'Anglès. Their grand vin. I had a bunch from 2009 kicking around in 2016 and it was nothing short of dynamite. Grenache Blanc. Bourboulenc. Roussanne. Marsanne. All that shit, together in one. Gahhhd dayum it was good.
I could go on. But I'm thirsty.
And I may just have to make the exact same thing for lunch.