Try, try again

This is the first night since last Thursday that I have actually been home for dinner, and so I really wanted to make something from scratch.

Silly me, I decided to make a frittata for the very first time. And without looking up any recipes.

The flavour was actually very nice. But I had a few too many vegetables in there, and needed more eggs. The frittata didn’t hold together at all, and was actually a bit watery (probably because I didn’t take the seeds out of the tomatoes). Didn’t bother to take a photo as I was too busy (and tired) to try, but I will definitely make this again with some adjustments. And once I actually do it sucessfully I will definitely be there to take that photo.

Childhood secrets

What horrible things did you eat when you were a child? Bugs? Dirt?

I had two things that I did wrong. One was a brief flirtation with clean scraps of the white paper with blue lines. I tried it because I once saw someone else do it and decided that I wanted to test it out as well. Boy kids are stupid.

My other bad, bad thing was my obsession with Kraft cheese Singles. I used to toddle over to the fridge and steal them from the cheese section in the refrigerator door. I’d even get up in the morning to watch my Saturday cartoons with a bit of processed sliced goodness. My mother would often find empty cheese wrappers by the television. I did this so often that I manged to break one of the hinges on the cheese door. For years until we got a new fridge, I would be reminded of my cheesy thefts.

And the really bad thing? I still love the crappy taste of Kraft singles. I know it’s not as good as an aged cheddar or a lovely bit of brie, but I can’t help myself. Sometimes, only a Kraft Single will do.

Passing on a love of cheese

On Sunday night, my 16-year old sister looked at me and said pleadingly, “I’m craving aged provolone.”

I had to laugh because Paddy’s Cheese Shop wasn’t open on a Sunday night. And also because it was my fault that she has cravings for this cheese; I’m the one who introduced her to it. She started eating provolone from the grocery store, which is okay but not as good as the cheeses you can get from Paddy’s or the Italian market. One day I was running errands with her in tow, and stopped at Paddy’s for some pecorino. Paddy’s is the type of place that will let you sample, so I asked for some of the aged provolone and she immediately fell in love with it. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I think she walked out of that store with a hunk of havarti and a hunk of provolone clutched in her hands. She had to restrain herself in the car from nibbling at her stash.

If she lived closer to Paddy’s she’d probably end up there once a week. I’m due to pick up more cheese soon; maybe I’ll be a nice big sister and pick up some provolone for her this weekend.