Breakfast, Special

Broken Egg Bistro was exactly where I wanted to be the next morning. It’s the kind of place I could see myself at with a group of friends one summer morning, sobering up and reminding each other what they did and said the night before. The kind of place I could see myself bringing some friends and visitors and acting like I discovered it. The kind of place where people have fond memories.

Let me just say, I love a good breakfast place. One, I could eat breakfast almost any time of day. Two, my stomach doesn’t seem to do as well with a pastry and paper-cup coffee in the morning as it does a big, savory meal. So, following our rounds at Red Bones, Winstons and wxyz bar, I was ready to pile on the pancakes.

When we arrived it was clear the place was buzzing with locals; families, couples, big groups of friends. It’s tucked in a quaint little shopping center (certainly way too bourgy to be called a strip mall) next to a pottery-making place called Glazenfyre, across from a hot dog shop and a yoga studio. Like most of Chesapeake, it’s surrounded by nothing much, like an oasis in a desert.

Though the place was bustling, it was warm. The orange and red walls, the high black ceilings and blond wood bar make for a cozy atmosphere, and the open kitchen window lends a slight air of a more traditional down-home diner.

When I called ahead to reserve a table, I got Marc Rojas, one of the owners, who invited us to say hi when we arrived. “I’m the guy behind the bar,” he said, ambiguously. And you can’t miss him. As we sat down, I asked our waitress, “Is that Marc?” “Yeah, that’s him,” she said. “The tall, really loud one.” I found, as he came by and welcomed us, that Marc’s whole attitude is a big reason why Broken Egg is as popular as it is–it’s bright, it’s friendly, it’s got it together, but it’s not too serious.

“I tell everyone our secret is we’re always here all the time,” he told us. “Everyone appreciates seeing the three of us here whenever they come in.”

I don’t doubt that, but I’d bet the food has a little something to do with it. Brandy, who I met at Daikichi Friday night, recommended the pomegranate mimosa, which was sweet and tart and perfect with a cup of strong coffee. Excellent start to the meal. Between the two of us, Jesse and I went for the Mediterranean Omelet ($7.49), served with hash browns and a biscuit, and the #3–two pancakes infused with chocolate chips (other options are blueberry, strawberry, pecans and bananas), and grits on the side. Everything.Was.Amazing. Every single thing. The garlic and feta flavor comination in the omelet; the freshness of the spinach. The huge portion of thick, chocolatey pancakes. Even the grits–mixed with butter and brown sugar, per our server’s suggestion–were heavenly.

Marc came over when he saw us stuffed and ready to fall asleep (note in the picture of Jesse below, his eyes are nearly closed already). “I see you really liked it,” he said and laughed. He asked if the omelet was too garlicky. “Hell, no,” I said, straight-faced. “Oh, good. We don’t use measuring cups, so I worry if someone might get just a little heavy-handed.”

I wanted to tell him that he ought not to worry; that it just goes to show, Broken Egg Bistro has a truly handmade perfection that you cannot get from some formulaic chain restaurant; something that is imprecise and yet somehow just right. But instead I smiled sleepily and said, “I loved it.”

–HS

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