ode to the breakfast buffetkangc012
These days, as a general matter of course, when my family goes on vacation we tend to rent a small apartment, rather than stay at a large hotel. The reasons for this are legion: to start, often apartment rentals don’t cost any more than hotel room rentals, and you get more privacy in an apartment. Secondly, my family gets to pretend we’re locals in a new city, forcing us to familiarize ourselves with local grocers, pharmacists, cafes, and so on. Also, we aren’t beholden to any schedules — there’s no reason to get up early, lest we miss breakfast, or be out of the room in time for housekeeping to make their daily rounds. Having to fend for ourselves at mealtimes, or clean up after ourselves after our morning showers, seems a small price to pay for full autonomy and independence on a vacation.
At least, this is how I thought until the Westin Stonebriar reminded me of the sheer brilliance that is the breakfast buffet.
People, breakfast is arguably my favourite meal of the day. There’s just something about waking up the palate with delicious breads, sweet fresh juices, perfectly cooked eggs and expertly brewed coffee, isn’t there? (An aside: this type of meal tastes even better at night, I think.) And then, just adding a side of bacon … mmm, bacon …
The thing is, in real life (or in a vacation rental), it can be difficult to truly express the beauty of an abundant breakfast — because, really, who has the time? — and this is where the magic of a good hotel breakfast buffet comes in. Also, if the hotel is serious, the hallmark of a good breakfast buffet — the thing that shows the hotel ain’t messin’ around — is the omelet station. Oh, lawdy me, how I adore a good omelet station! With the chopped ham and onions and mushrooms and tomatoes, and the turning over of the sizzling omelet with a mere flick of the wrist …
This chef was not only making omelets for everyone, she was also frying eggs however you wanted them, and! That’s not all! She was also manning a waffle station. All for a crowded dining room. It’s like she had 6 arms. The only thing she didn’t do was spin plates.
In the three mornings that we had breakfast at the Westin Stonebriar, I had omelets as big as my head every single time (but it’s okay, because there are no fat or calories in vacation food. It’s a scientific fact). By the second day, I wasn’t even all that hungry, but there was no way I was passing up the gimongous omelets. Because, by God, if there’s an omelet station, I will be partaking of the eating of the omelets.
My daughter, however, disagreed: omelet stations ain’t all that. Unless of course, they also do the Scrambling of the Cheesy Eggs of Awesome:
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