Hi, I’m back. Been quite some time. Unfortunately, this is because I am a very busy and important person. Although, if I’m being honest with myself, I just haven’t carved out the time to do much cooking recently. Moreover, I have not been pushing myself to create the sort of complicated dishes I wish I could be cooking, nor have I been writing for fun - this comes down to several factors, and time management is absolutely the largest one.
That’s not to say I haven’t been cooking, though. It is in these hectic hours, the light slowly dimming from my eyes after a long day of my editors beating out the last glimpse of hope I have in each piece I submit, tight for cash and tight for time, when I revert back to the first things I learned to put in the oven. With a cart of six eggs waiting to go off tomorrow, I made a frittata.
To remind myself of temperatures and timing, I had to hunt down a note I made on my phone in January of 2021: four years ago when I had yet to learn that my whole world would revolve around food and the people that I would meet and cook for just three weeks from that exact date.
I, like you (probably), overlook frittatas. But they have always, I mean always, been there for me. They are quite slept on as an institution of eggs, thought of as a usually flavourless egg pancake or beginners quiche. So “meh”, the meagre thing. People's ears don't perk up at the utterance of “frittata” in the same way they do when they hear the word “benedict”. But the frittata, in its best form, is the mother of all vessels. Leftover steak? Steak and cheese frittata. Ham and pea? Frittata. Only have an onion? Caramelised onion frittata. Limp spinach sat in the fridge? Chuck it in the frittata. The possibilities of the frittata? A scramble could never.
The frittata is a reminder that the last picked teammate sometimes evolves into one so much more capable than even its most celebrated counterparts (I’m looking at you, french omelette). Like a frittata, the humble dish often pushes one to place a little more intention into whatever effort goes into mundane tasks, given the fact that they are already so easy. Things like organising jalapenos in a pinwheel or paying extra attention to the broil as it stains mozzarella golden brown.
The frittata, to me at least, is a symptom of gratitude. On a menu, sure, it’ll probably be worse than average and definitely underseasoned, but to make a frittata for yourself, and especially to split a frittata with someone you love, blushing when they say that they like how you added fresh chives on top… unmatched.
Life, in my very amateur experience, does boil down to the simple things. Not just because some simple things make me remember how, why and where I began to love something (like cooking), but because they remind me that effort can be found and given everywhere at any level of complexity. The slightly imperfect tomatoes and peppers that had no other use than to go into the pan deserved a chance, and how imperative they proved to this near effortless meal.
So here’s that recipe from January 2021 (with no edits), but take it only as a suggestion: every frittata should be different and delicately catered to those it will feed.
Frittata Circa 2021
Ingredients
Olive oil
Eggs (at least 4)
Milk
Mozzarella
Ricotta
Any add-ins. I like:
Chopped bacon
Vine ripe cherry tomatoes
White onion
Red peppers
Hot peppers
Spinach
Recipe
Preheat oven to 375 F
Whisk eggs in a bowl with a dash of milk, salt, pepper, and chunks of mozzarella
Heat olive oil in a skillet, throw in your add-ins and cook down until soft
Add any seasonings and cut the heat
Pour in egg mixture and add some dollops of ricotta on top
Bake for 12 minutes, broil at end for a minute or two
