In honor of Julia and Julie, which I enjoyed very much, not to mention Top Chef coming back on air, I decided to become a sheeple and do a little French cooking this weekend.
After all, I never cook French (unless its soup of some kind – I find that anything with broth in it automatically sounds and tastes better when it’s French) cuisine and I figured it’s about time I give it a whirl. So off I went to find a few recipes to try.
And that’s when I realized why Julia Child was such a phenomenon – because French cooking is laborious! Not hard, mind you. Just intensely time consuming and with a million little finicky things that make you wonder why in God’s name you ever invited this grief upon yourself. Like any other cuisine, you won’t know until you begin but if you’re willing to put in some time, give it some love and refuse to panic or try to kill yourself when things (inevitably) go wrong, I think you should emerge more or less unscathed at the end of it. It also helps if you have some company to eat the results of your hard work unless you love yourself so much, no amount of effort is too much for a solitary meal.
Now I didn’t want to want to make anything too ambitious and I wasn’t in the mood for a souffle (although if you are, then you can’t go wrong with that recipe unless you simply can’t make a roux) – what I really wanted, in fact, was some delicious carbonara and a nice glass of white to wash it down. Or maybe a little homemade gnocchi with mushroom sauce?
So what did I finally end up cooking? Er, this delicious frittata that I was sinfully pleased with: just halved the number of eggs to 4, substituted Romano for Montasio cheese and reduced it in proportion to the eggs, and put in some bacon instead of prosciutto. Basically, I made a variation upon a variation. Who cares! It was yummy! And suitably French! That is, until I realized everything about it sounds terribly Italian.