poached, curried cubed chicken

Breakfast for dinner. But then I didn't eat it this for dinner, went out instead to a very nice French restaurant where they were offering lobster, half a lobster as it turned out, which wasn't anything like you'd expect on the east coast of America where a lobster is a LOBSTER, but I'm not complaining, oh no, not me, the wine and the mussels and the fantastic bread made sure of that. So I covered these eggs and curried chicken with plasticine and saved it for a few hours and so it turned out to be breakfast after all. Strange how things turn out sometimes, in'nit?

The eggs are poached in silly little cups intended for Jello. They impress a fruit design and they're wholly inappropriate for eggs but I used them anyway because they're the right size, and besides, the fruit design would be on the bottom where their absurdity is not noticed (except for the crenulated edges still show) Sprayed with oil.

The chicken breast is cubed, floured and fried in butter. Added to a sauce of roux flavored with Madras, chipotle, garlic, S/P. Thinned with organic boxed chicken broth. The flour from the browned chicken contributes to the density of the broth when they're combined.

Polenta poured out and cut into squares previously and chilled. Reheated in microwave for 40 seconds.

A very attractive heirloom tomato variegated with red and orange stripes sliced crosshatched then placed tenderly with great care onto the plate.

The red dots on the poached egg are dehydrated tomato slices processed to powder. It's very concentrated flavor and bright with roasted tomato impact.

Even though I didn't make it, I suppose it's only fair to show the interference meal that shunted the above breakfast-dinner to a holdover status pre-prepared (← redundant?) breakfast-breakfast (← redundant?). At any rate, La Central is one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants, and you can see why it pays to be always flexible. The staff there usually relegates us to a back room, possibly upon noticing my camera. Ha ha ha. But I don't care, mon frere, le flash est extraordinaire and easily overcomes the darkness to which we're consigned illuminated only by faintly flickering votives and the glow of the monitor at the waiter's station, then BANG! the flash that constricts everybody's pupils. I do enjoy stepping out with friends as long as it's good and when it's not, and that does happen only very rarely and certainly not now, I just enjoy the great companionship, nibble a little, and maintain the thought that I can fix the alimentary shortcoming when I get home. Such are the trials of us gastronomes. How we do suffer to uphold standards, excepting, of course, when we don't. Now I ask you, is that a lobster or is that half a lobster? Don't you think a thing like that would be specified? Maybe it was and I didn't notice. I didn't actually read the menu, after all. But had I known this I would have ordered two. Pfffft. Apart from the nouvelle cuisine-inspired proportions of our pauvre petit homard here, everything else was fine.