Alright folks, here’s what went down with my “Breakfast Olympia” experiment yesterday. Gotta tell you, it turned into more of a comedy show than I planned.
The Stupid Idea Strikes
So yesterday morning, I’m staring at these leftover potatoes from dinner like a zombie. Then I remember reading some fancy Instagram caption about a “breakfast olympia“. Sounded impressive, right? Figured it was just eggy potato magic. Yeah, famous last words.
Grabbed whatever looked kinda breakfasty from the fridge:
- Those sad, cold boiled potatoes.
- Couple eggs hanging on by their shells.
- Random green onions starting to wilt.
- Half a lump of cheese probably older than my gym membership.
- Bacon bits, ’cause why not?
- Spices: Mostly salt and hope.
The “Execution” Phase (Mostly Executing My Patience)
First up: chopping the potatoes into little squares. Easy? Nope. They kept squishing and sliding all over the stupid cutting board. Got annoyed and just hacked them into uneven chunks. Figured “rustic” was a good excuse.
Heated my one decent pan – medium heat, dumped in some oil. Tossed the potato chunks in, tried to get ’em crispy. Stirred ’em around like a frantic DJ. Waited. Smelled okay. Started thinking maybe this wouldn’t suck.
Pushed those potatoes to the side. Cracked the eggs right into the center of the pan. Of course, one shell fragment dives straight in. Spent a good minute fishing it out with a fork, muttering words my grandma wouldn’t like.
Eggs started bubbling. Threw in the wilted green onions (chopped fast and messy), the bacon bits, and finally that sad crumbled cheese. Stirred the whole mess together. It looked… lumpy. Cheese wasn’t melting pretty, it was clumping.
The Big Letdown (And Taste Test)
Shoveled this concoction onto a plate. Definitely looked like a “before” picture. Called it “Breakfast Olympia” anyway, felt stupid even saying it out loud.
Took a bite. Potatoes? Some crispy bits, lots more soggy bits. Eggs? Fine, hard to mess up eggs. Cheese? Kinda rubbery. Bacon bits? Salty surprise bombs. It tasted… edible? Like, fuel. But “Olympic”? More like backyard wrestling match. Missed the podium by miles.
Lessons From The Trenches
What did I actually “learn”?
- Fancy names are usually pure hype.
- Leftover potatoes are terrible at being diced.
- Older cheese doesn’t magically become melty gold.
- Getting the eggs and potatoes to cook perfectly together is harder than it looks.
- My “rustic” just means “sloppy”.
So yeah, my “Breakfast Olympia” was basically a scramble with delusions of grandeur. Tasted okay-ish, looked rough, taught me to maybe Google things before believing Instagram. Next time? Might just fry an egg plain. Or maybe eat cereal.
