by Margaret E. Ensley
by Margaret E. EnsleyI dreaded this assignment: to find the best breakfast on campus. I'm 20 lbs. overweight and my doctor tells me that my cholesterol level is a hefty 260.
Nevertheless, fate and journalism class have propelled me into the Elite Cafe, to boldly look mortality in the face. It seems Elite's new chef, Bill Marcelo, was the chef at San Francisco's Vanessi's restaurant for 15 years.
"As soon as things are organized," Marcelo said proudly, "I plan to offer healthy, California-style cooking with freshly made pastas." When asked about breakfast, he replied, "Maybe I'll add eggs benedict to the menu." Just what I need.
Turning, I watched the cook prepare a Denver omelette. The butter danced on the grill, gently kissing the underside of the fluffy, golden eggs. Salivating, I watched the cook gently fold in the ham, onions and peppers. Then my nose enticed my head to the left, where glistening sausage fingers sizzled and meaty bacon strips waited, docile and inviting.
Mentally, I placed my index fingers in the sign of the cross directly in front of my face and made a hasty retreat. I'll be back when my vein rotorooter arrives.
On my escape, I spotted Randy Taylor, a sophomore in physical therapy. "Randy," I pleaded, "you're in the health field, how can you eat fried eggs and bacon?"
"I have to have my eggs a certain way," Randy said defensively. "The Elite Café and my father are the only ones who know how to cook them right."
"What about the fat content?" I whined.
"In a few years I'll begin to worry," he said, with the naiveté of youth. "Maybe."
"Whippersnapper," I mumbled under my breath, as I left.
Panama Bay sells coffee, lattés and the like, with a tempting assortment of bagels, scones, muffins and croissants staring boldly out from their case. I heard the siren song of a poppyseed muffin, sitting plump and golden, teasing my taste buds. With that muffin representing 530 calories and my entire daily fat allowance, I might as well inject Crisco intravenously.
I climbed doggedly up the hill to the Kampus Korner Café, owned and operated since 1976 by Hani Haddad and his wife, Nadia. Haddad assured me they offer a healthy food alternative. They don't use any oil or animal fat, he said. Kampus Korner Café's clientele are 35 years or older, according to Haddad.
"People who are concerned with what they put in their bodies eat here," he said.
Of course, he also carries a large assortment of pastries, no doubt for the nutritionally challenged. I stared longingly at the baklava.
For the uninitiated, baklava is made of about 60 layers of delicate, paper-thin pastry leaves, individually buttered and layered with crushed almonds, topped with honey syrup and a delicate blend of subtle spices. I bought one. It's for my father, of course.
Driving home, I pondered my mortality. When my father asked why I looked depressed, I said, "As my cholesterol level rises, my quality of life sinks."
He just shot me that shriveling, "old Navy chief" look. "What the hell are you worried about?" he said, obviously irritated. "The women in our family live a goddamned sight longer than anyone ever wants them to anyway!"
He had a point. It occurred to me that the baklava was still in my backpack. Humming to myself, I headed toward the kitchen for the best breakfast on campus.
Back to Writing.
