quiche me

I have a confession. While I've been fully moved out of my parents house for 7 years, it wasn't until roughly the last summer that I've taking an interest in actually cooking for myself. I am a living example that one can live on eggs, toast, waffles and soup. It wasn't that I couldn't cook but cooking for one always seemed a bit dramatic. City living doesn't make it any easier either. I walk past 10+ delicious restaurants on my way to the market, then have to lug everything I bought back home and then use my barbie-sized kitchen to prepare a meal that may or may not turn out the way the picture looked online. My daily routine consisted of working late, running a few miles and then satisfying my hunger with whatever took the least amount of time. I always felt cranky, tired and suffered from sweeps of anxiety. Something had to change.

Change one, new apartment and neighborhood. Suddenly there were markets all around me that didn't charge $10.00 for mustard. Change two, a new job. 40 hour weeks rather than 50-60 hours. Change three, I got really sick of eggs, toast, waffles and soup. I also watched a lot of Top Chef at my first apartment in Hoboken. I'm not sure why exactly but eventually all those episodes sparked something in me. A commitment to a healthy mind and body, I began to cook. 

I started small. Basic chicken, seafood and dips. Guacamole became a staple in my world last summer. I didn't cook for anyone but myself. I would think back to Top Chef were the challenge was to whip up a 5 star meal in 15 minutes. Well I had 2 hours and aimed at about 3 stars, how hard could it be? I learned to cut recipes down to simple fresh ingredients. What the staples were in whatever I was preparing and what might improve the meal depending on fresh produce or what I was craving. I often pretended that I was hosting my own cooking show to an invisible 20 something crowd. A very casual, "I was just like you once, didn't know a mince from a chop but look at me now," cue severely professional knife skills.  

You've (whoever you are that reads my random internet thoughts) probably caught on to the more food related posts within the last year. More recently I've started cooking not just for myself but for my boyfriend. Prep work is my favorite. Happily dicing up onions while mascara tears stream down my face or pulling basil leaves apart and measuring flour, sugar, etc. Thinking about the day, putting worries to rest, focusing on the equation of ingredients rather than what needs to be completed at the office. More than anything an importance on slowing down. Why rush the process? There is no race against the clock. Sip water, breathe in, smell lemon and garlic, warm up the oil, warm up the oven. My most recent work is quiche. Inspired by a quiche my good friend Erin used to make at my first job and by a more recent bite at The Blue Stove in Williamsburg. The recipe below and for anyone who has never made crust, this crust is very simple and easy. I was sure that this would be the crust that ruined my cooking run but alas, perfectly golden. Enjoy.

crust

1 1/4 cups of flour

1/2 cup butter, chilled and diced

 1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup ice water

Combine flour and salt in a bowl. Cut in butter until mixture resembles crumbs. Stir in water, a tablespoon at a time, until mixture forms a ball. Refrigerate while you prep the filling. Roll dough out to fit a 9 inch pie plate. Place crust in pie plate. Press the dough evenly into the bottom and sides of the pie plate.

filling

6 large eggs, beaten

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

salt and pepper

2 cups chopped fresh baby spinach, packed

1 pound bacon, cooked and crumbled

1 1/2 cups shredded Swiss cheese

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Combine the eggs, cream, salt, and pepper in a bowl and whisk together. Layer the spinach and cheese in the bottom of the pie crust. Add bacon to the the egg mixture then pour on top of cheese and spinach. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes until the egg mixture is set.

original recipes for quiche and crust

hot number

 The summer here is hot. Without much of a winter I am expecting this summer to top all the others. Due to a lack of air conditioning, a lack of clothing seems to follow. In search for the most comfortable / girliest / sexiest summer sleeping attire I've landed on a few options above. Hoping some of these can double as accessories too for a hot summer night. Starting top row, left to right: VPL, VPL, MADEWELL. Bottom row, left to right: VPL, VPL, MADEWELL.

the paper trail

 Growing up I knew I was lucky. My mom was cast from early on as the "cool mom." Always requested and selected to chaperon field trips and tag along during hangouts with my friends, I knew she was cool and calm unlike some of the other moms. We'd go to Washington D.C. for museum trips and while the other parents drilled their groups on facts that they learned that day - my mom would take us outside for a non-cafeteria lunch and we'd watch her bargain down a tee-shirt vendor for whatever matching designs my friends and I were after. She was an idol to other girls my age. My mom listened to all our 12 year old issues of boys, parents, clothes, growing pains and she would take us seriously. She never spoke above our 12 year old selves and only offered advice and snacks. I trusted her so much that I knew that when I ran into trouble in 6th grade that she would hear me out.

We weren't allowed to pass notes but since I could hold a pen, I was writing letters. With multiple pen pals and pretty stationery, I was a 12 year old note rebel. Others however, not so much. When a schoolmate dropped a note of mine in the hall and Mrs. Kraft picked it up I already had a strike against me. The fact that it claimed that she was a class-a B**** (yeah I was a badass note passer but I didn't swear) was a sure sign that my parents would be called.

I was pulled out of study hall, told to serve multiple detentions and that my parents would be notified of my actions. While I was mad I got caught, I never felt bad. I knew that once my mom had heard what had happen that she'd understand. Flash forward to coming home and telling my mom the truth. What happened, what I wrote and the detentions. Most importantly though why I felt the way I did about Mrs. Kraft. She put kids down. She didn't encourage learning, she encouraged humiliation. Picked on kids who were timid readers and played favorites to those who were typical class pets. My mom went to talk to Mrs. Kraft.

She first asked if the note had been addressed to her and when she said no, my mom's point was made. If it wasn't addressed to her then why did she read it? It was none of her business and that it was a shame that a 12 year old hurt her feelings. I would not serve detention and the matter would be dealt with at home.

The matter was this - mom agreed that Mrs. Kraft was indeed a bitch. What I learned - if I truly felt a certain way I could tell my mom honestly and she would listen. Her reaction wouldn't be tarnished because she was the adult and I was the child. We were a team and a family. That I could trust her but also not to do thinks that may lead her to distrust me or disappoint her. I already knew she was the cool mom but her standing up to Ms. Kraft made my heart swell and still does today. Aside from all that I also learned one last thing - never leave a paper trail.

hero

 

When I was young my dad used to pull splinters out of my hands and feet. I don't know where I used to play where this was a common occurrence but I remember him putting my hand under a big magnifying glass in the garage and using a needle. He was unnaturally gentle and being the wimp I am, it takes a ton of trust especially when I'm hurt, to allow anyone to touch me. Quick and painless, the splinter gone and there was instant relief. His reassurance of fixing up his daughter was easy for me to read, it spread across his face. I learned dad liked being the hero.

I know all this modern woman stuff is telling us all to buck up! who needs a man when you have a college education, smart phone and good pair of shoes. Me. I'm the one shyly raising my hand. I'm not tall enough to reach the top shelf and strong enough to hang that 50 lb. mirror that I bought last spring. The truth is I miss that feeling I used to get where dad would get the splinter. When his pride and happiness from helping me filled me up with love. I could have gotten it eventually but seeing him help me was so much more rewarding. That hero moment- it's not just little girls and disney stories - I truly feel guys like it too.

Because let's be honest, when you help someone else, their appreciation and gratitude fills you up and you feel just as good. You can tell me to ask for the help of a girlfriend but it's not the same benefit. Sometimes whether it's opening a jar or pulling out splinters, a part of me wants that hero-like outcome. I'm not "modern woman" enough to say it.