So Clever Girl went on a date the other night with this hot, sexy guy and we were having a great time until he told me he took French in college, and I thought “Well now you ruined it!” I wasn’t sure if he meant the language, or taking a class on how to become an obnoxious, self-centered chain-smoker that snubs Americans, but does it really matter? French, for crying out loud, why not Italian?! As horrible as it was, it still didn’t stop me from wanting to shove my tongue down his throat and French kiss him… luckily, my mouth was full!
Leave it up to the French to do weird things with food combinations that nobody in their right mind would wanna eat. That is, until they put a fancy French name to it, and then all of a sudden it becomes a delicious-sounding dish. For instance, putting greasy, lemony egg sauce on wet, runny eggs doesn’t sound good at all, right? I saw a recipe for this exact dish in this ancient cookbook I found called “The Joy of Cooking” which is the stupidest title I’ve ever heard for a cookbook!
Clearly this book was written by a Frenchman who quickly changed the title from “Le Idiot at the Stove” to the more pleasant-sounding “The Joy of Cooking” for the American market, because seriously, what modern woman thinks there’s any goddamned joy in cooking?! Only a Frenchman could trick a woman into making him something to eat by making it sound fun.
But not me! Clever Girl finds it much more joyful to be taken out to dinner by hot men than to cook, even though I end up having to drop ‘em after a few dates because of they’re wanting to get their anchovies into my Caesar salad dressing, if you know what I mean!
As I was saying, greasy, lemony egg sauce on wet, runny eggs doesn’t sound good, but if you call it hollandaise sauce over Eggs Benedict, then it become something else entirely… see what I mean? At least the French have contributed two things that are worthwhile to us Americans; better sounding food and kissing with tongue. I guess they aren’t completely useless, just annoying as hell. And obnoxious… and rude…
…and they usually have small anchovies!
Anyway, I was making my way through the canyon the other day to this place that I’ve been meaning to check out, since they supposedly have this really beautiful outdoor setting… and because I’d just run over a chicken crossing the road, I thought: I want eggs! Then I thought: which came first, the chicken or the stupid Frenchman? So I went to the M Cafe at Calamigos Ranch (who’s chicken I think I had just killed), drove up, parked, and picked the feathers out of my front grill before I went in.
You wouldn’t expect a place like this driving through good ‘ol Kanan Road because, well frankly, it looks like a gay designer got his delicate little digits on a classic California ranch and turned it into a… a… flaming West Hollywood cowboy hangout! Nestled among the wagon wheels are chandeliers, gauzy fabrics, and a sitting area with flow-ey tent fabric blowing in the ocean breeze! It’s really gay…
…perfect for the French!
Anyway, I ordered their Eggs Benedict with brown butter hollandaise since it sounded really good, then I asked the server if they were missing any chickens. When the dish came, it was an average Benedict though. I was expecting something special considering they were calling their hollandaise “brown butter” hollandaise, but I couldn’t discern any difference from a regular hollandaise. The potatoes were the average ones you can find anywhere at breakfast, which was disappointing. Plus, it was 15 goddamned dollars! Really? For eggs? I guess you’re paying for the gay decor, but if I’m going to get reamed up my derrière, can you at least give me a French kiss first?
Malibu Cafe at Calamigos Ranch
327 S. Latigo Canyon