Well, I've finally done it. I've made our daughter throw-up due to my cooking. Nice, right? It went like this: we got home from church on Sunday and while Michael was talking to his parents on the phone, I was cooking up lunch for Emilia -- and it was something entirely new. We bought these glass noodles from Uwajimaya a month or so, intending to use them for an Ottolenghi recipe. However, that never happened, so I decided to quickly cook some of them up for the girl's lunch. Now, mind you, I've never cooked with glass noodles before, so I had no clue what I was doing. So, I treated them the same way I would regular spaghetti. Big mistake.
Once the noodles were cooked, I drained them, tossed them with a bit of olive oil, fresh tomato, and salt. And let me tell you, revolting does not do it justice. I couldn't even look at them, let alone eat them. I tried, but spit them out. And so, before tossing them in the trash, I asked Emilia (who was standing in the kitchen and at me looking like, 'why are you throwing away my lunch!') if she wanted to try them. To my astonishment, the girl said yes. I gave her a little bite, and she chewed, and she chewed, and then she started to look quite nauseous. Two seconds later she threw up on the kitchen floor. Michael was yelling, all mad-like, 'what did you feed her?!' 'Her lunch!' was all I could say before I started to laugh. Poor thing. I could hardly blame her -- after all, they made me sick just looking at them.
This incident aside, I tend to get quite annoyed when Emilia refuses my cooking. (She would have been smart to refuse it that particular time, though.) Dinner ends up so stressful when I spend the whole of it trying to cram healthy things into her little mouth. So when I decided to cook up Julia Child's recipe for Pipérade (which warrants another check-mark in my cookbook), I also cooked up some chicken for the girl, because otherwise I knew it would be a battle. Any sort of frittata/omelette/quiche/eggy-dish turns into way too much of a headache.
The pipérade was so good, though. The girl didn't know what she was missing -- well, apart from the bacon. She happily ate as much of that as I would put on her plate. It was also so easy to make -- perfect for an evening of putting up the Christmas tree and all that jazz.
Essentially all a pipérade consists of is slowly cooked onions, peppers, tomatoes, and crispy bacon, which then gets poured on top of scrambled eggs. It is served in the same dish that the eggs are cooked in, so Mrs. Child recommends using an 'attractive' flame-proof dish. (I used my lovely Le Creuset saucepan.) She also suggests dealing with the tomatoes in a way I always refuse. You are supposed to blanche the tomatoes, peel them, de-seed and then de-juice them. I have such a major problem with this, and it is not because I'm just a lazy ol' sod**. It's because I can't bring myself to actually toss out all the healthy things that are found in the skin, seeds, and juices. Those bits are loaded with anti-oxidants and vitamins all-sorts. So it just seems wrong to throw it all away. Because of this, I consistently skip this action in all of the fancy and complicated recipes that require it. So, you see? I'm not a lazy sod after all. I'm just an ardent health fanatic. Never mind the fact that the recipe calls for bacon -- call it pancetta and it automatically sounds much healthier.
**I hear that the word 'sod' is quite offensive in the UK. This is quite unfortunate, as I use it all the time. I also use my new favorite every chance I get: 'knobhead'. My friend Polly assures me that this is very bad of me, but isn't it a fabulous word? I mean, really, it's hilarious. She also tells that I should consider limiting my usage of the word 'bugger'. It's not fair -- the Brits always have the best insults. (Oh, and I suppose I should admit that the American equivalents of these words are really quite rude and offensive, so I'd appreciate all of you refraining in my presence. Were you raised in a barn or something?)
Pipérade, à la Julia Child
serves 4 to 6
8-12 strips of bacon (I happily used pancetta)
2 tablespoons olive oil or butter
1/2 cup thinly sliced yellow onions
1/2 cup thinly sliced green or red bell peppers
salt and pepper, to taste
1/2 clove mashed garlic
speck of cayenne pepper
2 or 3 firm, yet ripe, tomatoes (peeled, seeded, juiced, and sliced, if you must)
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil or butter
8 to 10 eggs, lightly beaten with a quarter teaspoon salt and a pinch of pepper
2 or 3 tablespoons minced parsley or mixed green herbs
Brown the bacon in the oil or butter in a large skillet. Remove and set aside to drain.
In the same oil, slowly cook the onions and peppers, covering the pan and stirring occasionally. Season with salt and pepper to taste. This part should take about 20 minutes or so.
Stir in the garlic and cayenne. Lay the tomatoes over the onion mixture, and sprinkle with salt. Cover and cook for 5 minutes. Remove the lid, raise the heat, and boil the mixture for a few minutes, until much of the moisture is gone. Season again and set aside until needed.
Now on to the eggs. In a large bowl, add the eggs and whisk with a the salt and pepper. Heat the dish or skillet over low-medium heat. When very hot, add the oil or butter, pour in the eggs and stir rapidly until the eggs have set. I think I cook them a bit longer than Mrs. Child would approve, but I absolutely abhor runny and slimy eggs. When done, pour the onion-y mixture over the top, crumble the bacon, and top with fresh herbs. Serve immediately. (Recipe from: Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Julia Child [and Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle], Alfred Knopf Publishing, 1961.)
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