Freedman's Jersey Shore Pork Roll Egg and Cheese

When I'm down the shore and it's raining, I like to head over to Freedman's bakery in Belmar. The old-school awning captures the pitter patter of raindrops, the 70s vintage booths bring you back to a simpler time, and the coffee can't be beat. Today I indulged in chocolate-raspberry brew with half and half. Yes, another fine institution allowing me to consume fat in the liquid form. This already allows me to give one thumb up.

The real reason though, that I head to Freedman's, is because when you're in Jersey, you have to get down and dirty with your food. For me, this normally means sitting at the Parker House dissecting a lobster with my bare hands (one of my all-time favorite pastimes), but in the late fall, it means splattering ketchup all over some greasy pork roll, fried egg, and melted American cheese squares.

Let's start with the roll. The roll is the ideal sandwich foundation. It doesn't get soggy, it's easy to grip, and it's large enough to house all your sandwich condiments. Freedman's is a bakery, so the rolls are always fresh and soft. Next, add some grease-laden pork roll. For those of you outside of Jersey, this is taylor ham. Still don't know what I'm talking about? Ask anyone from Jersey... it's one of the food groups. Usually round, kind of looks like a cross between spam and bologna. Salty and satisfying. Next, add a fried egg right off the grill. Edges all crispy from excessive amounts of butter... Mmm. Then, top it off with some good old-fashioned American cheese. If any state does it all-American, it's Jersey. Add some ketchup for good measure, and consume your heart attack on a roll, using the excuse that it's cold and rainy and there's a Nor'easter outside, so you might as well pack on a few pounds to stay warm. Clog those arteries, grab a newspaper, and know that you won't need an umbrella when you head back outside, because the rain will slide right off your greasy skin.

Egidio and the Breakfast of Champions

Most people believe that breakfast should involve cereal, oatmeal, eggs, french toast, pancakes... things easily available at IHOP (Vanilla Ice's establishment of choice--long story), Perkins, Sunday morning at Mom's, or Lawrence hospital. Most of us working stiffs settle for a granola bar, a pop tart, or a yogurt... something fast, portable, and usually unsatisfying. I for one, am the type to consume cold cake, cold pizza, or cold pasta in the morning. Leftovers from dinner entice me more than any item produced from a cardboard box. Tony the Tiger, Snap, Crackle, and Pop, Lucky and his charms... they never inspired me. Oh, my parents tried. Believe me. they bought every variety pack, forced every type of cereal ever created down my throat. They put it in bowls with milk, in plastic bags dry, and, when it was cool, they even made the little bowl out of the variety pack box. I always felt that eating a soggy mess of mushy wheat out of a cardboard box was a little, well, disgusting. So alas, I troubled my parents with my breakfast conundrum, for every parent knows that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And I always refused it.

I had an issue with fainting as a child. My parents always blamed it on my inability to eat breakfast. I passed out in first grade while sitting at my desk during math class. I passed out in second grade standing in line waiting for an announcement. I had put my hand up, but the teacher shushed me because at the time, whatever our principal was blubbering about was more important. I think she felt pretty guilty when I collapsed on poor Sheila standing behind me. I skipped third and fourth grade, and passed out again when I was ten during church. I lost my Mickey Mouse ked in the process and demanded that my uber embarrassed father go back inside and retrieve it. Then, I thought I was cured. But alas, I passed out again in high school, on the subway, which resulted in an ambulance and my father later screaming at a nurse, "MY DAUGHTER IS NOT PREGNANT!" Good times. I suppose breakfast is important, but for those of you who enjoy food, and not just packaged, sodium-laced "treats," I have a real treat for you. I introduce to you Egidio's Pastry Shop, located in the real little Italy in New York City. (The little Italy around Mott Street is a tourist joke. While there may be one or two decent restaurants, real New Yorkers know that if you crave some old-fashioned gravy and little Italian grandmothers who give you the Malocchio on Christmas because there's only one loaf of bread left and you, by God, are not going to be the one walking out with it, then you need to schlep yourself up to the Bronx!) My brother knows, when his sister is in the hospital, he doesn't need to show up with flowers or balloons, he simply needs to bring a cannoli or two, and his sister will be grinning from ear to ear.

Egidio's is a wonderful little corner pastry shop, serving a variety of cookies, pastries, and coffee. They raise money on occasion for disasters in Italy, and they're really friendly, if not insanely busy. You can find a seat on occasion (if you play hooky from work and show up at a strange hour), but it's usually packed with people placing holiday orders and birthday orders and such. Plus, once people find a table, they work it Italian style, meaning they'll sit there with their empty plates for hours, just socializing. There's definitely something to be said for the Italian lifestyle.

Anyway, what I recommend at Egidio's is the cannoli. And above and beyond that, if you have a sweet tooth, then I highly recommend the chocolate covered cannoli. Pure bliss. But there is a rule... If you choose to order the cannoli, and you should, ask them to make you a fresh one. Most people simply eat the ones on display, which are delicious and usually pretty fresh, because like I mentioned, Egidio's is a popping joint, but there's a whole new level of amazingness when you consume a freshly pumped cannoli. The cream hasn't made the shell soggy in any way, so you still get that lovely crunch of the fried-dough shell paired with the luxuriously smooth ricotta cheese filling. The chocolate cannoli is hand-dipped in thick, rich chocolate and contains clandestine chocolate chips within the sweet cream filling. Powdered sugar is then graciously sprinkled on top, and voila! the perfect cannoli. Pair it with a nice latte, and you have a real breakfast of champions!

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Less than 24 hours ago, I was lying in a hospital bed attached to a broken machine via a small, translucent tube that was devastatingly painful. The tube, in turn, was attached to a larger tube, which was attached to a thick plastic bag. In this bag held the medicine that was supposed to cure the severe bacterial infection that I had somehow introduced to my right foot. Drip. Wait five seconds. Drip. Wait five seconds. Drip... and so on for hours at a time. My arm was red, the IV refused to stay put, Dracula had woken me up at 5AM, which left me with a rather intriguing blueberry stain on my right elbow joint, as well as some splendid yellow sunshine bruising on the back of my left hand and my left wrist. I had developed a strawberry seed rash on my left arm... perhaps an allergy to the antibiotic, perhaps an allergy to the detergent, perhaps a remnant of the ridiculous itching at two o'clock in the morning... or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was about 90 degrees in the hospital room and I couldn't move my arm due to the lovely pink object injected into my left arm. Regardless, the most interesting hospital experience was the food. So, here I am, a native New Yorker, who has decided to create a blog to discuss the nuances of the 5 boroughs' cultural palate, and I start with hospital food in Westchester.

Perhaps it's because I've done the fancy, overpriced restaurant. I've done the expensive, I-want-to-marry-the-chef-right-here-right-now restaurant. I've done the hole in the wall, I've done the trendy and the touristy and the soon-to-go-out-of-business, but I have never, ever done the hospital bed. And so, since it is new to me, I feel obliged to start something new with something new.

First, there are waiters and waitresses. They walk around with a palm pilot and give you a list of options. They quickly jot down your order, plastic pen to plastic handheld device, and then move on to the next patient. While this is cool, it is not shocking. What's shocking is what arrives on your black, dishwasher approved black tray.

Sample Day:

Breakfast: Cheese omelet. 2 slices of bacon. oatmeal. fruit parfait. blueberry muffin. orange juice. coffee. milk. Really?

Lunch: 3 long, thin slices of roast beef in gravy. Fettuccine noodles. I turned down the broccoli and carrot combination as I had learned the difference between outside vegetables and inside water-disguised-as-vegetables. Angel food cake. Juice. Tea.

Dinner: New England Clam Chowder, Beef in sauce, vegetables, salad, roll, apple pie, coffee, milk, juice.

Snacks: Pudding, jell-o, and applesauce available upon request.

Am I here to get better, or am I here because I just happen to be below average pant size for the average American woman? That's a ton of food for someone who's training for a marathon. I was training for marathon television watching. Bed rest, foot up, tiny $7 a day television... and more food than I, a person who is known for excessive eating and has been told on numerous occasions that I should join Eater X and Joey Chestnut front stage, I, could not even come close to finishing the monstrosity that arrived on the giant black tray. I was amazed! Intrigued! Astounded! Especially considering I was visited by a dietitian on numerous occasions. Is this food here to help me get better? Or is it really a ploy to poison my, increase my cholesterol, and keep me strapped to a broken IV machine forever? I don't have an answer, but I do know that I'm not intending on returning to Lawrence hospital in Bronxville anytime soon. Wonderful, friendly staff. Tons of food (albeit not necessarily tasty). But me? I prefer my freedom to choose a restaurant.

So the journey continues. My goal? Travel around the 5 boroughs and surrounding area. Sample as many restaurants as possible--every ethnicity, every ranking, every type. Describe in luscious details the victories. Be blunt about the failures. Follow my passion. Demonstrate the beauty of my native city. And above all, live a little!