SOS In The Land Of Breakfast

There have got to be more places in Florida to buy a good breakfast than in any other state.  Of course, I have no statistical information to back up that claim, so I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.  My explanation for why there are so many places to eat breakfast in Florida is quite simple.  The only people who have time to go out in the morning and sit down and have a leisurely breakfast are retired senior citizens and tourists, and Florida has plenty of both.  The rest of us are working, or heading to work, and we just don’t want to get up early enough to make stopping at the local breakfast spot a reality.  The places I’m referring to don’t just serve breakfast in the morning, they serve it all day long.  And while they may also serve lunch and dinner, breakfast is their specialty, and the reason most people visit.  After all, you never know what hour of the day someone will develop an intense hunger for SOS.

SOS stands for “Stuff On a Shingle.”  Well, it doesn’t really.  I’ve politely substituted the original “S” word with the word “stuff.”  My mother reads my writing from time to time, and I’m sure she would not appreciate my use of the original “S” word.  So, in order to placate her, I’ll just use the word “stuff.”  Of course, I know what the real word is, and so does she, but some things are better left unsaid, or, in this case, unwritten.
 
My first introduction to SOS was during army basic training.  On one of those very early mornings in the company mess hall, partway up Fort Jackson’s Tank Hill, I remember going through the chow line and being served up, what appeared to me at the time, to be unrecognizable lumpy gravy slopped over toast.  The unfortunate soldier on KP duty, who was serving me the SOS, looked no happier than I looked being served it.  But looks can be deceiving, because after one bite, I fell in love, and have been in love with SOS ever since.

SOS is just another name for chipped beef on toast.  Like most prepared dishes, specific recipes differ depending on who is doing the cooking.  However, since so many people were first introduced to this culinary delight during the course of their military service, I think it is only appropriate that we look to the U.S. Army for guidance.  In the 1910 version of the Manual for Army Cooks, the ingredients for making creamy chipped beef were listed as being chipped beef, fat (butter preferred), flour, evaporated milk, parsley, pepper, and beef stock.  Those ingredients represented the “stuff” of SOS, and the toast represented the “shingle.”  Most modern chipped beef recipes eliminate both the beef broth and parsley, and substitute real milk for evaporated milk, but aside from those differences, the recipe has not really changed that much.
 
As noted earlier, I don’t make time for breakfast during the week, but I do get out occasionally on the weekends.  Breakfast places on Florida’s Gulf Coast, like around the rest of Florida, are plentiful, and they offer inexpensive menu items.  My problem with going out to eat breakfast is that eggs and breakfast seem to be synonymous in this country.  I don’t eat eggs, have never eaten eggs, and, in fact can’t stand the sight of them, especially if they're hard boiled or deviled.  Eggs, in my opinion, are simply not a desirable source of food.  Unfortunately, in most places, it’s hard to find a breakfast selection that doesn’t include a couple of eggs.  That's why I like the simplicity of SOS.  It’s just chipped beef on toast, and eggs have absolutely nothing to do with it in any way, shape, or form.

Luckily for me, there are a great number of breakfast places around which have SOS on the menu.  Making good SOS, like making a good grilled cheese sandwich, is difficult to screw up.  As a result, I am rarely disappointed.  The only place where I’ve had really bad SOS, was at an eatery in New Port Richey, Florida.  It was sweet, sickeningly sweet, and wasn’t worth finishing.  I’m quite sure that the cook had mistakenly added sugar instead of salt, because there is no other explanation.  No one, let alone a professional cook, would have intentionally desecrated SOS by adding sugar.  In any event, I’ve never been back there, and never will go back.

I’m always looking for new places serving SOS, and I get many referrals from people I know.  One such referral was to a place called The Broken Yolk Restaurant, in Holiday, Florida, which, I was told, had delicious SOS.  Now, given my aversion to eggs, I was immediately suspicious just based on the name alone.  I imagined a place filled with egg aficionados, trying to lure me inside with the promise of good chipped beef on toast so that they could convert me to their breakfast obsession of egg whites and yolks.  Despite my personal reservations about visiting the place, I reluctantly made my way to The Broken Yolk Restaurant, and I’m so glad I did.
 
The Broken Yolk, like so many of the breakfast restaurants in Florida, seems to be a social gathering spot for seniors.  It’s a place where the opportunity to meet and converse with friends is just as important as getting something to eat.  The restaurant is small, with no more than 15 tables, and it provides a cozy setting for a cup of morning coffee, a good breakfast, and friendly conversation.  Daily specials are written on whiteboards hanging on the walls, and a television mounted in a corner of the restaurant keeps everyone up to date with the latest news and weather.  On the day of my visit, however, I was not interested in conversation or watching the news.  I had come for one reason, and one reason only, SOS.

After quickly looking through the extensive menu, I selected the chipped beef on toast, and added a bowl of buttered grits and a cup of coffee to my order.  The service was both fast and friendly, and within just a couple of minutes, I was served my food.   My two pieces of toast were completely covered with piping hot, creamy gravy loaded with beef.  And, as a throwback to the old 1910 army recipe, it even had dried parsley sprinkled on top.  I knew, even before I tasted it, that I had hit the SOS jackpot, and it was sitting on a plate right in front of me.  It tasted even better than it looked, and my breakfast was enhanced by the bowl of grits, which were hot and buttery.

As reluctant as I was to come to The Broken Yolk in the first place, I was even more reluctant to leave.  I told the cashier on my way out that the chipped beef on toast was the “best I’ve ever eaten.”  And it truly was.  In a state where there are a thousand places to eat a good breakfast, I’ll definitely go back to enjoy the SOS at The Broken Yolk, because it’s just that good.

The Magic Of Gulfport Beach Pavilion # 6

Gulfport, Florida, is a relatively small, artsy, and eclectic city, right next to St. Petersburg, and sits on the south end of the Pinellas County peninsula. At the south end of Gulfport, is a small beach, and on the beach itself sits Gulfport Beach Pavilion #6.

Something quite magical goes on most Sunday afternoons under the roof of the small pavilion. And, while the magic in the pavilion involves music, don’t expect to observe youth, rock and roll, rappers, or any Hip-Hop. You won’t find it. Instead, you’ll find something much more interesting, and perhaps, much more touching and meaningful.

Pinellas County, Florida, and St. Petersburg in particular, has long been known as “God’s Waiting Room,” given the traditionally large number of seniors who have retired in the area. But, the seniors spending their afternoons in Gulfport Beach’s Pavilion #6 aren’t “waiting” for anything; they’re dancing the afternoon away. And, they’re dancing to some great old tunes.

Quite often I head down to Gulfport on Sunday afternoons, because it’s a relaxing time, and because it best fits my schedule. I really don’t know what goes on in Gulfport, its beach, or Pavilion #6, during the week, but, at least on Sunday afternoons, I know exactly what’s happening.

Around half-past noon, a musician usually arrives, sometimes with an electric piano, sometimes with an accordion, or, sometimes with something else. While getting set up, and while the testing of the sound equipment is underway, senior citizens begin to trickle into the pavilion one or two at a time, and sit down at the picnic tables that ring the small open air pavilion. As they arrive, even though the music hasn’t even started, most place a dollar bill in the tip jar which is set up on one of the tables. Shortly thereafter, with little or no fanfare, the music starts, and, that’s when the magic begins.

I arrived on Gulfport Beach yesterday at my usual time. Given that the temperatures were only in the mid-60’s, there were only a few people at the beach, and those who were there, were dressed for winter. Beachgoers greeted the cooler temperatures with hats and jackets, and some were wearing scarves and gloves. The only living things at the water’s edge were the gulls. Just like every Sunday, on benches up and down the beach, elderly men sat alone looking out toward the water. I always wonder what these men are thinking about so intently. Maybe they miss their children and grandchildren who live far away, or, perhaps, miss a departed loved one. Whatever they are thinking about commands their attention utterly and completely, and not even the music causes them to avert their gaze.

Once the music began in the pavilion yesterday, the magic started to happen, as it does every Sunday afternoon. As the musician sang and played, appropriately enough, “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” the Sunday faithful inside the pavilion, never more than a handful or so and bundled up in jackets on this unusually cool day, began to dance. One lady invited her partner to give her the “first dance of the new year,” and he quickly accepted. As more upbeat tunes were played, things got a little livelier, and when one elderly woman said, “Let’s kick up our heels,” she went ahead and actually did so. You have to appreciate it, and when I write about the magic inside the pavilion, this is exactly what I mean.

As the music inside the pavilion played on, those men on the beach benches continued to stare out into the sea. An old man from New Hampshire, inside his recreational vehicle, sat in front of those big front windows, watching the magic happening inside the pavilion, but never stepped outside. Other seniors pulled up into the parking lot in front of the pavilion, and watched silently as the music, and the magic, played itself out. They never got out of their cars to dance, and probably never will. But they, like the men sitting on the benches, and the man inside the RV, will be missing the sudden “magic” which transforms ordinary senior citizens inside Pavilion #6 on Gulfport Beach, into energetic, fun-loving, dancing youngsters, once again, if only for a couple hours, on any given Sunday afternoon.