Frittata on Sunday

Some folks describe frittata as an omelet.  Others say it’s quiche without the crust.  All of them are clutching at straws.  Really, does a quiche taste like an omelet?  You kidding? Yeah, sure and you might as well say a hamburger tastes like a flattened hotdog.

Frittata brings a lot more to the table than mere sustenance. It’s a toss together microcosm of the Italian happy-go-lucky view of life: First we cook, then we take off our clothes, pour some Prosecco, and share an Italian Happy Meal.  What time does your husband come home?

Well, maybe they’d never say that, but you’d follow the gist with the sensually erotic smiles and the expressive hand gestures that wrinkle your blouse.

You’re asking yourself, all that in a dish of eggs?  Oh, yeah!  But, as an American, you must be able to transform yourself and your state of mind.  Takes practice. First, the average American male must lose thirty pounds.  The front of your pants must not look like an overextended trampoline, with the belt as a safety device.

Cinch that waistline until your eyes bulge and your cheeks begin to collapse.  Unbutton that shirt a bit.  Let a cigarette languish on your lips, even if you don’t smoke. Roll up the sleeves of your linen shirt. Carelessly don a classy sports jacket with no tie and don’t forget to push up the sleeves. Turn up the collar. Practice Al Pacino’s lingering eye contact, and give your lips a sensual curve, even when saying simple things like:  the grinding of salt reminds me of your teeth mia amore, red brick matches your eyes mia cara, and soft socks flatter your stubby toes mia principessa.

Now I know you’re ready to do some ‘talian cookin’.  Ok, here’s the prep work.  Chat casually with two or three lovelies, in your white linen shirt, open at the collar, while sipping a glass of Italian wine, and feeling more at ease than the fire-red Ferrari in your cobblestone driveway.  Throw in vowels at random.

Mix in a few hand gestures that tell the world Miss Universe begged for it, but (insert a big what-can-you-do shrug) you’re only one man.

Keep that frame of mind going while you cook this low carb, easy, sumptuous crowd pleaser.  This recipe serves two, but easily doubles or triples or more…

Frittata For Sunday

One small onion, diced

4 Eggs

1/2 Cup half & half (I used 1/4 Cup whipping cream and 1/4  Cup water, but use any dairy you wish)

Olive oil

1/3 Cup thinly sliced and chopped hard cheese of your choice (I used Pecorino with chili peppers)

1/3 Cub grated Parmesan

Couple of tablespoons of chopped fresh basil, or your favorite herb

Salt and pepper to taste

Pour your guests and yourself another glass of wine.

Mix the eggs, cream and water in a small bowl. Add 1/4 teaspoon salt and pepper.

Preheat the oven to 350ºF (180ºC)

Splash a couple of teaspoons of olive oil in a small frying pan.  Add the diced onion and cook on medium to low heat until the onion is translucent.  Remove half the cooked onion and put it aside for now. Leave the rest in the frying pan.

Pour the egg mixture into the frying pan and turn up the heat just a bit.  This is not a quick fry dish.

As the egg mixture begins to crawl up the sides of the pan and before the center is set, scatter on the rest of the diced onion and add the bits of sliced cheese.

The onions and cheese should sink into the frittata.  Give it a minute, then sprinkle on the grated Parmesan.

Slip the pan into a 350ºF (180ºC) oven and allow the frittata to cook until it is firm and beginning to very lightly brown on top.

Remove the cooked frittata from the oven and toss on the chopped basil.

I like to serve this dish with English style bacon.  Not familiar?  English bacon is cured from the top of the loin.  The English refer to American bacon as ‘streaky bacon,’ which comes from the belly.

Note:  Variations on frittata are almost limitless.  Add anything you like, from chopped Italian Sausage, to chopped dried tomatoes, and any cheese that calls to your taste buds.  Hey, this dish is Italian and just as happy go lucky!

In case you think I’m being too hard on Italian men, let me clarify.  I plan to move to Italy, buy a villa on the Mediterranean, have a wife and two very frisky maids, and drive a Lambo….as soon as I’m young enough.