Alright, I need to sober up already. I can’t sleep anymore that’s for sure, my cats wont let me, no they just start circling me like a couple of vultures demanding food by meowing and purring till they have woken me from my slumber. Why should they care if I need my sleep; there is food in the cupboard and they know it, and that’s all that matters to these two greedy cats.
They aren’t alone, I need food too. If I am to sober up any time soon I need two things: Emergen-C, and an egg-cheese-with some sort of pork product sandwich, oh yeah, and freshly squeezed orange juice…guess that makes three things.
I get dressed put on my sunglasses and head down to the bodega. Christ it isn’t even sunny outside. It doesn’t matter, the glasses stay, nobody must see my eyes when I’m in such a state, for if they did they would see the truth…That my eyes are two little lost souls drowning in a river, which flowed right down to my liver, which is an island in an ocean of Tequila and Rum.
I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s all really good Tequila and Rum, it’s just a lot of really good Tequila and Rum.
I used to just go to the Mexicans for breakfast, and if I wanted chorizo this morning, I guess I still would be. But I have started perfecting my own breakfast sandwich, and as far as I am concerned I have everyone beat.
Breakfast in this neighborhood comes on a myriad on vehicles. For $3.50 at the bodega you can get egg cheese and bacon, ham or sausage on a roll. If it’s a fancy bodega you can switch up the cheese, because something all these places had in common was that if you didn’t specify, it would be implied that you wanted american.
If I went to the mexicans, I could get my sandwich on a bagel or even croisant for $3 dollars, and over at the Cuchifritos breakfast is served on a hero for $2.50. The Bodega down by Becky’s house makes a breakfast wrap made with four eggs for $5, which honestly I cannot eat by myself. I guess you could hit the Burger King, or McDonalds, but with all these mom and pop options, why bother?
Don’t get me wrong, if I am driving cross country, am in the middle of nowhere, and there is a McDonalds, I am thankful for that classic egg McMuffin. But I live in a neighborhood full of immigrants, and even though they trump the fast food chains, I believe I can do better myself. I won’t even consider trying White Castle.
I have perfected breakfast, with a twist. Ham is boring, bacon is passe, and frozen sausage patties just don’t sound good when I actually think about them. So I have started using Dominican salami. I spice up the eggs by mixing in habanero sauce in with the eggs while I scramble them. The eggs do become green, which is fun to look at if not anything else I guess. As for cheese, I prefer american cheese, because honestly between the salami and the hot sauce, the flavor is covered. A slice or two of melted cheese always serves to bond the two nicely.
I honestly never feel that much of a need for bread, the tortilla simply enables breakfast to eaten with my hands. So in the end you got yourself a breakfast burrito of sorts, and have that with a side of fresh oj and the road to sobering up becomes evident.
Now I need to buy some fresh oranges and a juicer and the middle man is cut out entirely. Well I guess technically the middle man is truly cut out when I grow my own orange trees, and raise my own pigs and chickens. Come to think of it, I am willing to pay someone else to deal with that. The image of me still drunk from the night before trying to slaughter a pig and squeeze oranges doesn’t sound appealing. I’m sure I would look a lot like the Swedish chef.