The words “steam table breakfast” aren’t the most inspiring. And true, the migas served from a steam table at a Whole Foods in Upper Kirby aren’t the most “authentic.” I know you’re already rolling your eyes about this whole thing, and I don’t blame you. Bear with me though.
I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. I believe in pleasure because I have physical senses, and I believe in guilt because I’m Catholic. I’ve long felt, though, that if one is going to seek enjoyment, it should be unabashed. When we talk about guilty pleasures, we mean things we’re not supposed to like. C&C Music Factory, Big Macs, daytime television. They don’t come critically acclaimed. You will not find them on Best Of lists. I don’t care. I’d like to share one of my pleasures with you. No guilt attached.
You see, the eye-rolling is kind of the point. I’m very serious about the title and aims of this (very occasional) column. Food without pretense. Flavor without baggage. Suspend your disbelief and set aside your preconceived notions. In fact, forget everything I just told you. Not the “Whole Foods steam table” bit, because that’s pretty hard to ignore. The migas part, though, can be set aside with ease.
Really, the amalgam of eggs, cheese and tortillas scooped from deep hotel pans has very little to do with migas. Okay, the blueprint ingredients are there, but that’s about it. Rather than maintaining a shred of integrity, in this form, the tortillas and eggs meld into a soft, almost creamy whole that’s greater than the sum of parts that aren’t quite migas. Liberally stratified with melted cheese, there’s an unctuous quality here just bordering on unpleasantly heavy. Bordering, but not crossing over.
At its heart, this is a nebulous “breakfast casserole.” There’s nothing elegant about it; there’s nothing subtle about it. It is, however, tasty and hearty and satisfying. If you feel like a little variety, chunks of smoked sausage and thick, deeply caramelized wedges of plantain are decent options. The rest of the steam table is pretty well worthy of the derision you might feel inclined to aim at my choices, so skip it.
Eggs don’t hold well, unless they’re bound with disintegrating tortillas and mounds of melty cheese, the pan sausage is weird and watery, and I refuse to pay WFM prices for black beans. I should refuse to pay WFM prices for a dish I can probably throw together most days at home.
The migas, though. I’ve grown fond of the migas. Even if it isn’t migas, it’s still good. It’s a grubby kind of good, but some mornings, that’s just what you need.
Migas at Whole Foods Market, 2955 Kirby at W. Alabama, 713-520-1937