Quiche and Crepes

It’s even way past my bedtime but I’m still up on a Monday night, a work night. Granted it’s a short work week, Thanksgiving week, but still.

I’m up because I’m making my “signature” quiche for the second time tonight. It’s for Andy’s work. They’re each supposed to bring a Thanksgiving dish tomorrow to work. Not that a red-pepper quiche is really standard Thanksgiving fare, but it’s one of the few dishes in my recently discovered baking career that I’ve perfected. Andy got a choice—a quiche, blueberry muffins or a pumpkin pie (which I last made a year ago, so I was relieved that he didn’t chose that one)

I made the quiche earlier tonight, but because I tried to cut corners by using a different dish than the one I usually use, the crust kind of fell in, the quiche top got a bit too brown than it really should be and the dish itself, although dishwasher clean, sports some broiling residue that should’ve really been scrubbed by hand.

In all the times I’ve made variations on this quiche over the last few months, it’s never looked that bad. It tastes just fine, but since presentation is part of the dish as well, I thought I’d give it another shot. So it’s 2 a.m. and I’m waiting for the pie crust to thaw so I can assemble the quiche and bake it.

The only thing is that this new quiche probably won’t taste as sweet as the one I’ve already made because the red pepper I had left didn’t seem as ripe and sweet as the previous one. Oh, well, Andy can decide in the morning.

I’ve made different variations on this quiche theme: it’s always 4 eggs, fat-free cottage cheese and grated parmesan cheese (yes, I could use better cheeses, but these are always readily available and easy), the varying ingredient is sautéed spinach, broccoli or red pepper. Apparently, the red pepper version is the winner, according to Andy.
I hope this work mates think the same tomorrow.

The quiche, muffins and some other dishes I’ve been regularly making are part of my expanding cooking and baking endeavors.

I’ve been mesmerized and intrigued by baking for a long time. It seems so hard and exact and so easy to screw things up. So I thought it’s high time to master it. It’s also strangely creative and relaxing, especially when I make several different dishes at the same time. Then it’s fun. I hate it when I feel like I need to make a meal every night (not that I have to because Andy and I evenly split cooking duties and try to cook in larger batches so that food lasts us a few meals).

We’ve also had to up the ante on cooking because of Ivan. The days of popping a yummy pizza in the oven have largely gone away, mainly because we need to cook good healthy food for both us and Ivan.

Hence my quiche solution, except Ivan doesn’t seem to like it. I think it’s the eggs. He must not like scrambled eggs because I yet have to see him actually put something of the yellow consistency in his mouth.

It’s also about tradition. Since I come from a family of non-cooks and bakers (although there were some attempts on my mom’s part to bake when I was little), I thought I would create some baking traditions of my own. I know I’m not cut out to become a “milk and cookies” mom, I just don’t have that in my veins, but I could pull off making baked goods on weekend mornings. For example, making muffins or pancakes or waffles. Waffles are actually Andy’s specialty. So far, I’ve perfected the muffins—blueberry or apple muffins. I love them, Andy likes them and Ivan seems to scarf them down as well.

About two months ago, I was set on making crepes. Except I had no clue how to make them. So one evening, I phoned my mom for help. I recall her making crepes when I was little, but when I called her to ask about the recipe, she indicated that it’s really hard to make them, that it’s tricky to get the dough right. (I think her complicated attitude toward baking is probably why I have this feeling that baking is hard and complicated and not for novices.) But she offered to look up the recipe, in a Croatian cookbook, non-the-less. She read me the recipe. It seemed simple enough, except the measurements were in milliliters and dekagrams. Now, I’m more at ease with milliliters and dekagrams than ounces and cups, (and I still have to learn to determine what’s a fever in Fahrenheit, after 20 years of living in the US), but remembering conversions was above my head.

But I was determined to make Ivan pancakes for breakfast. Our internet was out that evening due to a storm that knocked it off, so I couldn’t Google the information. TI remembered an old high school Trapper binder that had conversion rates on its sides. I dug it out. I eyeballed the conversions and measured out the ingredients.

The following morning I was in business. I made the crepes. I must have had novice’s luck because they came out perfect and were easy to make.

I triumphantly spread the jam on them and folded them in triangles, which is my preferred crepe folding shape, not the roll one.

This was the breakfast and desert of my youth. I wanted to pass it on to Ivan and start regular crepe weekends. I offered Ivan a bite, the juiciest fold of the triangle, bursting with jam.

Ivan took a bite, considered it for a second in his mouth, and then opened the mouth to let the crepe fall into my hand.

I was devastated. He didn’t like it.

Later in the day, he ate a few bites but it just wasn’t the same.

I haven’t made crepes since. I’ve stuck to the muffins. They’re easy and mastered and liked by all.

Crepes still have this aura of being difficult to make hanging over them, and I’m gathering strength when to attempt them again.