Fridgettata

Maybe you also have a really clear memory of the first time you cooked for yourself. I certainly do--the summer after my first year of college, I went to Chicago for an internship, knowing no one, having no place to live. Probably the boldest thing I have ever done. Going to the grocery store to buy food for no one but myself was daunting. Of course, being a weirdo, I had a very solid vision of what my cooking style would look like once I was living on my own, with neither my parents nor college dining hall staff to cook for me--so it was also pretty exciting. I was so sure I would know what I was doing, and would be able to cook smartly and cheaply, and would have a beautifully stocked pantry and a well thought out freezer. What those articles, with their beautiful photography, forget to mention is that this is sort of a difficult method of cooking to accomplish when cooking for one--especially one who didn't really know what she was doing. I didn't buy too much stuff for the grocery store, but I also didn't buy the right things. I had thought I would make a vegetable frittata---supposedly simple, right? And for the most part, it was...right down until the cooking time. A new oven, my first frittata...I had overcooked the vegetables initially, a problem that was not helped by the fact that I proceeded to cook the heck out of the frittata in the oven--it must have been in there, slowly drying out, at 500 degrees for about 40 minutes. Not a good scene. It came out of the oven, I remember, looking like puffy, speckled leather and tasting much the same. Over the course of the next few days, I ate all of it, not feeling comfortable enough to acknowledge my first try (and failure) and move on. There were a lot of questions that I asked myself, like "why did I have the oven on in 70 degree weather?" and "why did I use wintry vegetables like celery and carrots in June?" and "what the hell was I thinking?"

Luckily, the rest of that summer was colored by my first culinary successes--fresh cherry pies, gazpacho, guacamole-stuffed cherry tomatoes, and eventually a decent frittata. As with all things, it took some time to come into my own style of cooking; a style based on three equally important pillars of what I want to eat, what's in season, and what I have lying around the house that should be used up. I find this leads to an off-the-cuff style that makes me happy, because I feel thrifty and inventive at the same time. And, in this case, really satisfied. I hope you also make a frittata with whatever you've got lying around, using some good sense in choosing vegetables and just relaxing into the inventiveness of cooking on a weekend morning without leaving your apartment. And if it turns out terribly, think highly enough of yourself not to eat it, and to try again. 

Caramelized Onion, Bacon, and Gruyere Quiche

Long time no dish. I'm back, lovely friends. It's been a crazy two months. Thank you to all of you who have made me feel alternately wonderful and guilty during my absence from the blogosphere by telling me that you like reading the things that are posted here. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My two-month sortie into the "real world" (i.e. jobosphere) has been illuminating in more ways than one...but probably the biggest is that working 9 to 6 with a half hour commute on either end leaves little time for cooking. And even less time for blogging about said cooking. 

But this is not a time for regrets! It's a time for new beginnings! And not only for new jobs...and new blog posts...but also a new kitchen, in my new apartment in Brooklyn. I just want to prepare you--remember those lovely granite countertops? Gone. The fully stocked pantry with things like salt, sugar, and frozen homemade chicken stock? Gone. And--I can barely bring myself to speak of it--that immersion blender? All, all is lost. Sorry to be so dramatic, I'll stop. It is a very different kitchen than the one you've been seeing, and the one I've been used to cooking in. But it's my first real kitchen that's truly mine--one that I get to stock with goodies and fill with delicious smells (along with my two fabulous roommates). 

So here we are. I'm looking for my next gig, on a budget, in a new, un-stocked kitchen...what is the first thing I want to make? Something a little bit special, a little bit decadent, and a little bit familiar--a caramelized onion, bacon, and gruyere quiche.

Oh, and despite the picture above, this recipe actually does make a whole quiche. Obviously, it gets eaten pretty quickly.

Put an Egg on It: BLT Salad Edition

Today is a really exciting day. I'm kicking off my "Put an Egg on It" series here on Dishes! Inspired by the Portlandia sketch "Put a Bird on It," this recipe series will celebrate my relatively newfound love of fried eggs. They're cheap, delicious, full of protein, most vegetarians eat them...and did I mention they're cheap?


 Runny egg yolks used to gross me out. Now I love them. Why the change of heart? One word--bacon. When I was in France a few years ago, I went out to lunch with a fellow American on the trip (hi Alix!), her student host, and the host student's father. Ordering in French was fine--I saw "Frisee aux Lardons," or curly bitter salad greens with porcine yumminess on the menu, and I felt set. Imagine my horror when my lunch arrived with two jiggly eggs on top! I had just started picking around them when Alix's father gave me an accusing look--"That's obviously the best part, and you're not going to EAT it?"--that I couldn't ignore. So I sighed, and pricked the eggs with my fork until the yolk began to drip down the salad. Taking an apprehensive bite, I was ready to hate it.


Wrong. So, so wrong.


The silky yolks were the perfect complement to the crispy bitter tangles of endive, chunks of crunchy bacon, and vinegary bite of the warm dressing.  This is by far my favorite salad, and it's pretty easy to recreate without fancy ingredients and with minimal effort. I ate it as brunch, but it's another one of those dishes that you will love anytime...including right now!! Put an egg on it!