Grand Central Market: Breakfast
In Cleveland, there is a food institution built in a cathedral like, turn of the century train station. The West Side Market is a mixture of fresh produce, meat, and bakery vendors with hot food stalls. Many stalls have been worked by several generations of the same families. I grew up with this as a given. It has never not existed for me. So when I moved to Los Angeles, I assumed a city far larger, far more diverse, would have such a place. I was looking back in 2005, and my internet search found little. Except for the Grand Central Market.
The name resonated. It conjured the majesty of the old train station. However, reviews were less than favorable, and I resigned to not seek it out. (I was also less of an explorer at the time and venturing downtown seemed daunting.)
I decided to seek it out again when looking for fat excuses and, much to my joy, found in 2014 that the market saw a sort of revival, a byproduct of the revitalization of downtown (as we Millennials demand life in urban centers). Many new vendors, some former food trucks, took up new spots in the Market. Like the 626 Market event, there were far too many places to try in one day. So, I took myself on a Sunday morning and decided to eat my way through breakfast. First stop: Eggslut!
The egg, being the foundation of an American breakfast, seemed an excellent place to start. The name is suggestive, but not subtle. I remember seeing it rambling around at food truck stops and festivals, and I thought to myself, one day I will have Eggslut. The wrap around bar was packed, and a line already formed at the register. Eggslut sits on the back of the Market with the huge doors thrown open on Broadway. I ordered a fresh squeezed OJ while I waited for my sandwich. Now, the menu ranges from the simple to the more gourmet. It's early, I don't want too complex, so I just go for the egg, bacon, and cheese. Here's the description from their menu: hardwood smoked bacon, over medium egg, cheddar cheese and chipotle ketchup in a warm brioche bun.
The true test of any egg is the yolk. Can the yolk be cooked properly as requested or to the benefit of the dish? I am a born and bred runny yolk man. (Which is partly a lie. My mother hates a runny yolk.) My favorite breakfast dish, eggs benedict, is just because it has a poached egg, the king of runny yolk preps. So imagine the moan that came out of me when I bit into this sandwich.
Look at that post bite. That is sex. I dream about Eggslut some mornings on my way to work.
I have a new found edition to my breakfast foundation: fried plantains. At Sarita's Pupuseria, there is a whole buffet of Salvadorean food, winking at you from behind a glass case. I stared at it for a good while, reminding myself that I was only here for breakfast, and I had several stops to make. I was there for the plantains. I also had to suck down a horchata in order to bring the total bill high enough to pay with a card.
I'm used to neat little slices of plantain fried until golden, sticky and sweet. What I got at Sarita's was something more hearty and rustic. This little boat weighed heavy with plantain. They were sliced lengthwise, cooked up, wonderfully caramelized with parts of the exterior having a candy crunch.
Okay. This is the part where you hear that twirly intermission music, because I went and just sat. There was a bit of over-stuffed sweating, sipping the melted ice of horchata. Intermission music over.
Wexler's Deli excited me the most, because of the idea. A New york style deli, where they house cure the meat, in the Market...now this is approaching the type of tradition I grew up with. Like Eggslut, I didn't want to venture too far away traditional breakfast. So, I went with a bagel, lox, and cream cheese. Now, this isn't tradition for me. Fish at breakfast? My ten year old self balks at the idea, and maybe feels a little sick about it. But as a (slightly) grown up man, I've come to really like lox. First, let's talk bagel. It was killer. And given a proper toast. I'm used to getting a toasted bagel before work from a certain corporate coffee chain. Not only are they sub par bagels, it seems that toasting is some kind of lost art. Do you have to apprentice as a bagel toaster? The lox were fresh, like the fish they were cut from was sit around some where. My own personal taste is for a really smoky lox. Wexler's has a subtle smoke taste. But you can't get any fresher.
Suffice to say, I was beyond food coma at this point but somehow sentient. Potatoes are usually involved in breakfast, right? And potatoes are potatoes regardless of how they are prepared. This is how I convinced myself to buy french fries for my breakfast post. But guys, these are french fries fried in beef tallow. Belcampo Meat Company is the Market's butcher, but they also have a kitchen and diner counter to serve up some of their tasty cuts. (Since my visit, Belcampo now serves brunch, so look for legit breakfast option there.)
At this point in the trip, my palate was probably blown, and my stomach certainly too full. But these were so good. My only issue was their doneness, which was way past my liking. Too crispy. I need them to still have soaked up some of that beef fat. The last eat also contained the strangest part: the ketchup (not pictured). It is some strange, homemade concoction that I could not figure out in the slightest. I meant to go back and ask, but needed to walk and get some fresh air. Get some when you go and see if you can figure out the mystery.
This winding, hours long breakfast was as joyful as it was ultimately painful. I may or may not have crawled up Hill to Grand Park where I just existed for an hour or two, a sack of digestion. I will return for Lunch, Dinner, Dessert, and maybe even Breakfast 2: The Baconing.
As always, go forth, eat, and be fat (with joy, if not in body).
Grand Central Market Hours: Sun - Weds 8AM - 6PM, Thurs - Sat 8AM - 9PM 317 S. Broadway Los Angeles, CA 90013 TEL (213) 624-2378
