I’m obsessed with food lately. I am thinking about it, testing recipes, and trying new things. Rather than fight obsession, I’m just going with it and we are eating very well!
Years ago I created what I call Le Kitchen Cookbook. It’s a simple marble composition book that I designed so I could easily find my essential recipes, record the things that worked, and remember what didn’t when we entertained. It became indispensable for recipes I made up as I was cooking because if I didn’t write them down immediately I’d forget them. Before the cookbook, friends and family would ask how I made those wonderful grilled vegetables or that delicious chicken potpie with that touch of ginger that made it so interesting. I’d remember the dishes but had no idea how I made them and what I did that made them memorable. Since the fun of a good recipe is being able to savor it, it seemed a shame not to be able to repeat it, and so Le Kitchen Cookbook was born.
Le Kitchen Cookbook replaced my hundreds of pieces of paper with good recipes that I saved throughout the years. In it, I not only I record all my good recipes; but sometimes I’ll decide that one of them isn’t worth repeating so I write an explanation as to why.
This book has become one of the most essential tools in my kitchen; so much so that I really want to share it with you.
How can I do that? Perhaps the best way is to make one up for you. One that includes the basic and essential information that I find important to have at my fingertips as well as some of my favorite recipes and a few stories I’ve written about food. I want your cookbook to include a little bit of everything I love and find so useful.
I’m working on it and will keep you informed as to how it’s coming along and when it will be ready. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, let me share a recipe for the frittata I made for Mark this weekend.
Frittatas are originally Italian and usually made with vegetables, but Mark isn’t a big fan of the zucchini, yellow squash, and tomato blend I was planning to use, so my solution was to divide the frittata in half. On one side I used the vegetable medley and on the other side I just used potatoes and bacon.
When I served it I was surprised to discover that even though the section with the vegetables was good, the one with the bacon and potatoes was better.
I played with the recipe a bit and came up with an egg, bacon and hash-brown frittata—a one-pan breakfast. It was delicious and a simple way to serve brunch to a large group of people.
Here is the recipe for you to try.
Egg, Bacon and Hash-brown Frittata—a one-pan breakfast
Serves 12—A glass ovenproof pan, 12 x 9, will result in 12 3” x 3” pieces
To serve 6—cut the recipe in half and use a pan that is approx. 9” x 9”. (Use any type of ovenproof pan.) Bake for 40 to 45 minutes.
Preheat oven to 350°
The frittata can also be served at room temperature making it perfect for a buffet.
1 Crème fraîche—can be found in most grocery stores in the imported cheese section.
If you want to make your own crème fraîche it’s easy
In a glass jar combine the ingredients, partly cover and leave out at room temperature for 8 to 24 hours to thicken. The amount of time depends on how thick you want the crème fraîche to be. You want it to be the consistency sour cream.
You can substitute either sour cream or whole fat yogurt for the crème fraîche.
Do not use low-fat milk products; they have too much water and will cause the frittata to separate as it cooks.
If you like spicy food, add some hot sauce to the egg and cheese mixture.
What about you?
Do you have a place where you keep your favorite recipes?
Would you like to have your own Kitchen Cookbook with all the important basics already written down and room for your favorites?
Let me know; we’d love to hear. Join the conversation!
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My memories of growing up in France included learning, when we sat down to dinner, what was expected—otherwise known as manners. Manners were not optional; my mother insisted that I know the rules that everyone lived by. She explained that life was so much easier when you understood what was expected of you; not knowing meant that you’d feel. . .