Hot Suppa

You can have great breakfast at home. We often have fresh bagels and smoked salmon, dressed up with cream cheese and loads of red onion and fresh dill if we have it, to which I add a tomato slice and capers. Those breakfasts are great, and even a bit romantic, as we both sit at the table looking to get back into bed with one another. But romance comes more naturally on the road. We went to Portland, Maine, for a quick retreat in advance of the return of Deb’s daughters from college. Hot Suppa had gotten so many recommendations – and warnings about the long wait – I felt we had to go.

The line did not materialize, but the food did, extraordinarily. The restaurant serves a Southern inflected breakfast. Deb’s omelet, overstuffed with mushrooms and cheese, came as a rolled cigar of lightly cooked egg, as opposed to the browned and folded versions I make. I had a fried-green-tomato benedict, something I’d never seen before. Extraordinary, and drenched in one of the best hollandaise sauces I’d ever had.

And the waffle! We had ordered it for dessert, and it hit the mark. Thin and crispy, the dough caramelized on the ridges, a finish as sweet as our retreat. We will be back to Portland, and to Hot Suppa. We reluctantly left the tent behind the restaurant where we had eaten, and packed for our return to our real lives.