January 20, 2013
It’s story time with Miss Diane! Gather ’round kids.
Once there was a little girl who was a very picky eater. She didn’t like spicy foods, she didn’t like foods that were “too green,” and was generally scared of foods she’d never tried before. Eventually, the little girl grew up to be a college student who, while still being a picky eater, loved to eat.
One day, the girl had a realization. If I get over my pickiness, she thought, I can eat more food! Maybe I don’t actually hate the things I don’t think I like… maybe I never gave them a proper chance.
And so she started with mushrooms. She took some plump, pretty mushrooms, and stuffed them with everything she liked: bacon, bread crumbs, cheese, garlic…
If I don’t like them stuffed with all these good things, she thought, then I probably actually hate them. She took a fat, juicy stuffed mushroom between her fingers and took a bite. She’s been loving mushrooms ever since.
September 29, 2012
The very first thing I made upon arriving in France was a quiche. A full-sized, caramelized onion and gruyere quiche that I took to my first brunch. The onions were a little over-sweet and it was overcooked due to a timer error, but it worked out in the end. Quiches are forgiving that way.
Since then, I have bizarrely ignored what is clearly the best brunch food known to man. Which is silly, really, given my tart obsession (meaning that I always have several rounds of pastry crust in the freezer) and the gentleman requiring eggs in the morning the way a Frenchman requires a strike at least once a year.
Here’s the thing about quiche, or at least, the thing I like best about quiche: because you have this butter crust holding it together, the eggs can be soft. Extremely soft. Softer than perfect soft-scrambled eggs. If you’re a soft-eggs person, quiche is the ultimate in satisfaction and gooey yolky nirvana.
September 26, 2012
This is spanakopita. (These are spanakopitas?)
It’s spinach and feta wrapped up into little phyllo triangles and doused with butter. The phyllo gets golden brown and butter-crispy and shatters into little shards that get all over your clothes that will make people on the street look at you funny if you forget to lint-roll yourself before leaving home.
August 16, 2012
I’ve been living the single life lately. The gentleman’s been off on a trip to the States, so it’s just me in this big ol’ apartment, typety-typing away. (Bizarrely, I buy the same amount of groceries.) There are certain advantages to the single lady life: sleeping spread-out, diagonally on the bed; watching Pride and Prejudice with dinner minus any eye-rolling. But when it comes to dinner, it’s a constant battle against that little voice in my head: “It’s just for you. You’ve got no one to cook for. And you’ve been working all day! You went for a jog! Why not just step out and get something quick to-go?”
This is one of the dishes that’s been helping me battle eating a mountain of falafel every night. Beautifully fresh salmon from the fishmonger’s or the farmer’s market (if there is one that day), marinated in soy sauce, rubbed with brown sugar and baked to rich, caramel-crusted doneness. It’s sort of teriyaki-esque, I guess? Whatever, it makes an awesome dinner with quinoa and spinach, and the pizza place and the Chinese takeout place haven’t seen me in their doorways, makeupless and hungry at midnight, so far.