Fresh Approach Cooking

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Charlie is back in town. Creating havoc and confusion in his wake. In the best possible way of course.

It was a slightly chilly night when I got the text message his plane had landed and he needed a ride to the hotel. Of course, I had no warning he was hitting town. I scrambled to get glam and headed out the door. I’m a sucker for this man and his mayhem. He makes VIP seem pedestrian and makes me laugh so hard I can skip going to my abs class for a week.

For no apparent (to me) reason, he had reservations for a suite at a somewhat dodgy hotel out by the airport. He said it was "gonna be a riot." I said I didn’t doubt it, but murmered please check into the Peninsula or I was going to have to reconsider hanging out.

With a twinkle in his eye and a grin like a Cheshire cat, he stepped out to call a friend. 30 minutes later we were in a town car headed to Beverly Hills. My car was to stay out in dodgy-town..in case. In case of what I didn't want to know. (And for the record, my car is perfectly acceptable to any valet in town. It is shame free…now that it's been detailed…) I suspected this was part of a master plan. For what, I was yet to learn...

Now that’s what I call the start of a good time!

It was 2:30 in the afternoon afterall.

We hit the town running. Cocktails all around. We went back to the uber swank hotel. I took advantage of the palatial suite and drew myself a bubbly bath (that’s a bath with bubbles and a glass of champagne) while he went off to do whatever it is he does when I'm not looking.

Almost immediatly some of his more raucous cohorts appeared. They lured us out. We went to dinner at some sort of Hollywood nightmare so-VIP-it-doesn’t-exist private supper club (no photos allowed). The sparsly furnished room smelled like leather and woodsmoke. They served lamb so tender and flavorful I forgot to look up from my plate until it was gone.

We ended up a club that served smoked bar nuts in fishbowls. I'm officially over clubs. On to a party where the only food was a bag of oddly orange cheese puffs sitting forlornly in a bowl. We drank cranberry juice from a glass slipper (more on that some other time) and danced on a plexiglass covered infinity pool overlooking a twinkling canyon. We didn't fall in. Lucky thing, since that is the last thing I clearly remember. (And I clearly remember being perfectly okay right up until that point.)

In the morning, (or was it mid-afternoon) I awoke to a decidedly singed smell and it wasn't the room-service toast growing cold outside of my door. It was coming from him, crashed out on the divan in my room instead of his own. Nothing seemed amiss until I noticed the eyelashes on his right eye were decidedly gone and the perfectly cut blazer he had been wearing (but was now using as a blanket,) was missing a sleeve. He refuses to tell me what happened. For my own good he says.

I rolled my eyes.

I wondered about my car.

He drowsily made a call. This was all part of the plan.

Two hours later a lanky British C-list celebrity sporting an eye patch (I couldn’t make this up if I tried) and reeking of Axe, appeared at the door, tipped his hat and handed me the keys. He told me it needed to be detailed again and to tell Charlie "Thanks."

Head swimming, I stumbled back to bed.

This may not be love, (for the record, Charlie is just an old friend) but when we got to my house 48 hours later, he did make me eggs with caviar. Creamy, dreamy salty perfection.

He's cute AND he can cook...

I haven't got a clue when or where he got the ingredients (certainly not from my fridge) and when it comes to Charlie, it's better just to go with the flow. I just tucked in and sighed with contentment.


So my peaches, if you want to have a Charlie-style morning, all you have to do is make these and indulge. That's all there is to it.

1 pat unsalted butter
6 eggs, room temperature
1 tablespoon heavy cream
1 teaspoon creme fraiche (more for garnish)
pepper
2 heaping tablespoons caviar
minced dill or chives for garnish

In a large double boiler, melt the butter.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, cream, creme fraiche and pepper (to taste).

Add to the butter and stir until creamy and cooked

Remove from the pan and divide between two plates.

Top with caviar and additional creme fraiche if wanted.

Serves two

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Caviar refers to the salted eggs (roe) of the fish species, sturgeon. Caviar comes from the Persian word Khaviar which means "bearing eggs". About.com

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Crème fraîche is made by inoculating unpaseurized heavy cream with cultures, letting the bacteria grow until the cream is both soured and thick and then pasteurizing it to stop the process. Thus, it cannot be made at home with pasteurized cream—the lack of bacteria in the cream will cause it to spoil instead of sour. - Wikipedia

Labels: Breakfast, Seafood