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Postcard From The Road: The Breakfast Was Worth Waiting For

The view from the breakfast table made me thirsty for water.

SEATTLE – The first time I ever came to Seattle for baseball, Rangers PR Poobah John Blake, noted master gourmand and cultural bon vivant, told me about a breakfast he once ate in Seattle. He talked about looking at waterfalls, while the waiter got up on a chair and dripped “honey from the sky” on his biscuit.

For Blake, it’s all about a nice presentation, anyway. But he didn’t stop at the presentation or the view. He just raved about the food. That was in 1997. I’ve pictured that honey dripping on my biscuits (that is not a euphemism) ever since. The problem was I always stayed in downtown Seattle and never rented a car. But thanks to a Microsoft convention this week, I had to stay out by the airport to get a decent rate, which meant I had to rent a vehicle. It also meant, the honey from heaven was finally within my grasp.

Since Blake spent a couple of days summering on the Cape before heading to the All-Star Game, PR Vice Poobah, Rich Rice, a noted lover of breakfasts, is on the trip. I figured I could cajole him into going by showing him the menu online and that bit of food seduction worked just fine. But being the generous host that I am, I also invited Rangers GM Jon Daniels, who really wanted to go, but had to decline at the last minute. And he did so graciously. This is how he put it:

“Driving out for the breakfast wouldn’t be that bad because of the anticipation,” Daniels said. “But 45 minutes in the car on the way back with you? I can’t see it.”

At least that’s what I think he said. Besides Daniels had already been to our destination, the Salish Lodge, with his wife. Guess he didn’t want to ruin any pleasant memories.

Ah, who needed Daniels? He’d probably just spend the morning babbling about Roy Halladay (kidding, Jon). As long as Richie Rice was in, we were good to go. At promptly 10:38, even though I was supposed to be there at 10:30, I picked up Rice at the team hotel and we headed East. Across Lake Washington, which sparkled under a bright sun and was surrounded by evergreens. Through the verdant hills. The drive may have taken 40 minutes, but it seemed like 10. Wanted to spend the entire day just driving through the moutains, looking at the trees and the water. But, then, I remembered: Somewhere in these hills, there was bacon. Bacon!

It was just about then that we reached the exit for the town of Snoqualmie, our destination. Off the highway, through more twists and down the side of what you and I would call a mountain, but what the Washingtonians call a ridge and we were there. Didn’t look like much more than a hotel next to a power plant from the outside. But, hey, I was really there for the food.

So, the food. Well, not quite yet. They showed us to our table from where I took the above picture. Your morning starts out with this view and you don’t need any coffee.

Now, the food. The signature country breakfast was just too much -yeah, even for me. It was like a six course breakfast. Just ridiculous. For a moment, I thought about the Railroad Avenue (named because the lodge is located on Railroad Avenue). But in the end, it was just your basic breakfast. It was then that a sassy little French dish by the name of the Classic Croque Madame caught my eye. It was two slices of fresh brioche toast that enveloped honey cured ham and fresh Swiss cheese. It was topped with two sunny-side-up eggs and a whole grain mustard bechamel sauce. It came with bacon and potatoes. That’s right, two, yes two, pork products. Happy Day!

Rich, also a lover of your various breakfast cakes, was torn. He wanted something with pancakes or waffles, but didn’t want a single waffle or pancake stack to comprise his breakfast experience. The server assured us we could split a waffle – they are vanilla infused with cinammon whipped cream – as an appetizer. Or as a dessert. Then he ordered an omelet topped with mozzarella, dungeness crab meat and stuffed with spinach. My reaction: The omelet choices were inspired, but they were still just omelets. There was smoked salmon hash out there. I thought he’d regret it later on, but you gotta let them make their own choices.

The waffle? Ridiculous delicious aroma when it went on the table. Let me say that fresh made waffle cones at an ice cream shop might be the most intoxicating smell I’ve ever encountered. This was sweeter still. The waffle (left) had cooled a little bit, but was still pretty durn good. I’m telling you, that vanilla infusion and the cinammon whipped cream made it really stand out.

But it was an APPETIZER. I was waiting for the meal. And let me say this: I’ve hunted a perfect breakfast all over this country with nothing that really stood out as exceptional. There have been some delicious country hams along the way and various localized eggs Benedicts, a matzah brie here or there and a couple of fine blintzes. But the perfect breakfast dish is something I’ve searched for and craved and had ultimately determined would never ever tickle my palate (again, not a euphemism).

Croque Madame? Oui, oui, mon frere.

When the beautiful Croque hit the table, I knew I’d found something truly special. The bread was soft without ever getting soggy. The eggs were still hot, still had runny yolks and the ham and swiss sandwich was both sweet (the honey cured portion of the ham) and savory (the salty finish of the Swiss). When they met the bechamel sauce, which was somewhere between a mustard sauce and a hollandaise, they created an orgy (OK, that was a euphemism) of taste in my mouth. Did I mention the accompanying bacon? Thick and exceptionally crisp without being burned or greasy, it made my head swim.

I almost forgot about the “Honey From Heaven” service, but after all the buildup, it was a comedown. Apparently, the servers used to climb up on a chair and drip the honey from on high. The server even told us how some used to do it behind their back. But “it became a hazard,” she said.

Rich and I had one thought: “Lawyers!” (Damn you MJH!)

I also pictured a server going to a personal injury attorney to explain how he/she was injured: “I was a honeydripper.” (Again, not a euphemism)

Snoqualmie Falls is beautiful, but I'll be back for the Croque Madame.

Anyway, the biscuits and honey were just so-so. Rich ate his omelet with a hearty fervor, but every once in a while he glimpsed at my plate longingly.

I knew what he was thinking.

Rich, my friend, you should have ordered the hash. After all, that’s what Blake would have done.