Open Faced Egg Sandwiches

Green-up barely starting. The first dandelions in the lawn. A pediatric burn case Tuesday. I came home and made adobo and did not write a blog post.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made pancit Sunday. The long-life noodle. The Filipino default. The dish you make when you do not know what to make.

The blog post on pancit got picked up by a Filipino-American newsletter. Traffic doubled for two days. The traffic was the surprise.

Pete texted me Saturday. He retired three years ago. He still texts me Saturday. The friendship is the broth.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

The pancit was Sunday’s work — the long noodle, the family argument, the calamansi substitution — but most mornings that week it was just me and the coffee at six AM, and whatever I could put together before the shift started. This open faced egg sandwich is what I make when I need something warm and real and fast: bread, an egg, a little butter, and a few minutes of quiet before the day becomes the day. It is not pancit. It is not adobo. It is the start, which is sometimes the only thing you can ask for.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 slices thick-cut bread (sourdough or whole grain)
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
1 small tomato, thinly sliced
1/4 avocado, thinly sliced (optional)
1 teaspoon fresh chives or flat-leaf parsley, chopped (optional)
Red pepper flakes, to taste (optional)

Instructions

Toast the bread. Toast the bread slices in a toaster or under a broiler until golden and firm at the edges, about 2—3 minutes. Set aside on serving plates.
Cook the eggs. Melt butter in a small nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. Crack eggs into the pan and cook undisturbed until whites are just set and edges are lightly golden, about 3—4 minutes for sunny side up. For a set yolk, cover the pan for the last minute of cooking.
Season. Sprinkle each egg with salt and black pepper while still in the pan.
Assemble. Layer tomato slices onto each toast, then avocado if using. Slide one egg onto each open-faced slice.
Finish and serve. Top with chopped chives or parsley and a pinch of red pepper flakes if desired. Serve immediately while the egg is warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Open Faced Egg Sandwiches — The Start Was Always the Same