Well before the Idaho Famous Potato Bowl, the Egg Factory was filling bowls with the state’s most well-known produce.
Specifically, the folks here use deep-fried cubes of spuds they call Factory potatoes, and then smother them with, say, chunks of chicken-fried steak and gravy, or corned beef hash and swiss cheese, and two eggs any style.
They’re called “spudsations” ($7.99 to $8.29), and they make up just a portion of the vast menu in this breakfast-and-lunch-only place that has gotten so popular it now has two locations in Boise and a third in Nampa. On the weekends, you’ll probably have to wait for a table.
The Egg Factory came at the tail end of the Treasure Valley’s culinary-industrial revolution that brought the similarly named Spaghetti Factory and Cheesecake Factory and once spurred a friend of mine to quip that this was good economic news: “We need some steady manufacturing jobs around here.”
But unlike national big-box establishments, this little mini-chain is locally owned by Brian and Barb Godsill, who cut their breakfast teeth at the Sunrise cafes in Ada and Canyon counties, and who find a fine line between the basics and some unexpectedly fun twists.
The enchilada omelet ($8.39 for a full-size order, $6.79 for half) is a tasty blend of house-spice chorizo, onions, peppers and avocado smothered in chipotle sauce and two kinds of cheese. The toppings cleverly make the whole think look exactly like an enchilada — so much so, in fact, that we thought it could be more fun if it actually came with rice and beans.
Another touch of innovation comes in the form of “crepe eggs,” which are like tiny breakfast burritos wrapped in light and sweet crepes. The Egg Factory calls them a “classic in the making,” though time will have to decide that. The so-called Red Rooster’s blend of chorizo, green chilies, tomatoes and cheddar cheese ($7.99) did woo a friend on a recent Sunday morning, and while he bemoaned his relative lack of manliness when my pile of drop biscuits, sausage and gravy showed up, he enjoyed the compact little packets.
The Factory also specializes in surprising pancakes — like gingerbread, oatmeal cookie and tiramisu. A lemon-poppy seed version, with lemon syrup, was delicious.
Now that I’m older, I can live without a bloody mary or mimosa with my weekend brunch (it’s tough, but I live through it). But if I do have a nit with the Egg Factory, it is with the coffee. This is diner coffee; OK in its place, but it simply doesn’t hold its own with the food.
I know a few dudes have been skimming down to see when I’m going to get around to describing that biscuit-and-gravy dish, so here goes: What I had was called the Farm Boy Biscuit Breakfast ($7.59) and it was served like an eggs benedict, except manlier — something like eggs manedict.
I ate the whole thing, of course. But I will throw this out there: If you get the full-sized portions, this is not a bad place to split your order. Most dishes come with a choice of “breakfast bread,” and we’re not just talking white or wheat. Over the course of a couple of visits, we opted for a drop biscuit, a short stack of specialty pancakes, half a cinnamon roll and a slab of French toast.
And though the signature deep-fried spud squares are OK, the Egg Factory’s hash browns are much better — crisp on the outside, perfectly cooked on the inside. Like at that southern roadside attraction, the Waffle House, you can get your spuds covered or smothered or topped with melted cheese or bacon bits or gravy or veggies — or all of the above.
If you leave hungry, there is no one to blame but yourself.
Gregory Hahn: 377-5425
