These must have existed in California or Indiana but I remember the first time I saw a breakfast sandwich wrapped so tightly with its neat little collar in white paper and put in a brown bag with an absurd allotment of napkins, I think I may have whimpered a little. Eggs, bacon, cheese on a soft warm, slightly greasy bun. Oh the smells! I was finally in New York standing at a cart in the dead of winter, and some grown man that cared about how I wanted my coffee was handing me a styrofoam cup of joy, and said bag. That's a piece of this city that I thank the Lord I was here for because today, so many of those carts are gone. So many bodegas no longer make breakfast, there are less and less real bodegas and besides I'm no longer at an age where this is an appropriate meal to start my day.
But zoom ahead 25 years and here I am, making sweet potato hash browns, chicken sausage to serve alongside my open-faced homage to that incredible Manhattan wonder while remembering how I fell so deeply and passionately in love with this darn town and all it's food-ities.
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