Scotch eggs for the win!

When out-of-town friends come to visit during the summer, they always want me to feed them the good stuff. They want the gimmicky food, the exotic food, the over-the-top food, the better-than-what-they-have-at-home food.

For all that and more, I always go to Smorgasburg, Brooklyn’s gluttonous weekend food fest.

Most recently, when I took a friend visiting me from Iowa, we tried a few dishes from different vendors, but both agreed the best thing we had all day, possibly all weekend, was a scotch egg from The Imperial Egg.

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From Smorgasburg’s Imperial Egg: Moroccan spiced lamb Scotch egg

Scotch eggs, in case you didn’t know, are boiled eggs, coated in sausage, breaded and deep fried. (Take a moment to let that sink in. Ok, you good? Let’s move on.) The Imperial Egg puts their own spin on scotch eggs by coating the actual eggs in different types of sausage, like the one we got, Moroccan spiced lamb with a drizzle of yogurt sauce.

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So sloppy, so freakin’ good

To make everything more delicious, the egg’s center was just undercooked enough that when it was poked with a fork, the thick, orangey yolk oozed out over the rest of it, making it a messy as hell affair to eat, but so very freakin’ worth it. The spiced lamb gave a rich, spicey meatiness to the egg’s smooth, yolkey inside, and the creamy yogurt sauce, combined with a bright, fiery hot sauce, added a nice heat and tang to round everything out.

If you ask me, Imperial Egg’s scotch egg would probably be enough to make me consider moving to New York, if I wasn’t already fortunate enough to live here.

The best, but really

Whenever something claims to be “the best” of its kind, I take it with a grain of salt. The pizza place in my neighborhood, for example, which claims to have the “best margarita?” Well, they’re just silly because a margarita, first of all, is a drink not a pizza, and second, if they were referring to the margherita, which is a pizza, then they’d be wrong again cause theirs is mediocre at best.

But I’m getting horribly off topic here (and unnecessarily hating on a local pizza joint, so sorry). The reason I’m bringing up any of this “best” claim business is because I think I may have had the absolute best grilled cheese sandwich ever this weekend and I need to relive it by writing about it.

The Bacon Cheddar Blue from Milk Truck Grilled Cheese

The Bacon Cheddar Blue from Milk Truck Grilled Cheese

The Bacon Cheddar Blue from the Milk Truck Grilled Cheese stand at Williamsburg’s Smorgasburg was intense and in my opinion, the best of its kind to ever meet my grilled cheese loving mouth. Perfection if you will: toasted rosemary pullman bread sandwiching New York state cheddar Wisconsin blue, sweet caramelized onions, thin spicy pickles and the power ingredient, thick sliced double smoked bacon.

The bread had just the right amount of crunch to complement the gooey, melted cheese oozing out, and the onions added just a hint of sweet jamminess, while the pickles, though not really spicy, lent a bright tangy flavor that I really enjoyed. The bacon? Well, c’mon, when is bacon ever anything but delicious? This bacon, all thick, smokey and juicy, was everything I could ever ask for.

I scarfed it down like it was my job and licked my fingers afterward, and now I’m here to pronounce it the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever eaten.  And you shouldn’t take that lightly.

Shouldn’t have but I did

How do you say no?

How do you say no?

Sometimes, no, a lot of times, no wait, practically all the time, I do things I know I shouldn’t do. Willpower is not exactly my forte. Eating a big fat hunk of bacon, for example? Yup, that was one of those things I was fully aware I shouldn’t do today, but then yet, well, I did it.

Sitting right in front of me at the Landhaus table at Williamsburg’s Smorgasburg, loaded up on a hot grill, glistening under a coat of maple syrup and dusted with mysterious reddish spices, the chunk of bacon on a stick was practically begging to be eaten, so I did just that. I ate it. And I loved it.

Maple bacon on a stick. Yea, you heard me.

Maple bacon on a stick. Yea, you heard me.

Yes, it was probably my caloric intake for the rest of the weekend, and yes, it probably beelined straight for my already soft midsection, but you know what, it was so freakin’ good. Good in that gluttonously delicious, juicy, soft, buttery, so-bad-for-you but so-good-to-you way that only a truly great piece of chunky bacon is.

I try to make up for the things I do that I know I shouldn’t have, and even though it was just one thick, chunk of bacon, I can already tell I’ll be atoning  for my food sin for a good long time on the treadmill. But man, was that bacon good.