How to Make the Perfect Frittata with a Baby
By Axie Barclay
My Spousal-Type Creature is undoubtedly the better cook in our household. Since getting our hens into their coop, we’ve been inundated with eggs and are ever after new and awesome egg recipes. Tired of omelets and saturated with fresh ingredients, we threw together the following frittata recipe. Here’s the recipe, in case you’d like to follow along.
- 3 farm-fresh, free-range eggs (preferably still warm from chickens)
- One small diced onion or half a large one (be sure to wear glasses instead of contacts to ensure maximum tearage)
- One diced green pepper (fresh from the garden)
- One sun-warmed tomato (see above)
- Shredded cheese, your choice of flavor, sharp cheddar and pepper jack work well (this we bought, since under no uncertain terms are we milking. Ever. I mean it. A lot.)
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Extra Virgin Olive Oil to grease pan
- Wait until your demanding offspring has wrung you to the limit, then whisk him up, snot and all, to go fetch the mail and the eggs from the chicken coop. Don’t kick the chickens when they escape out the door because, despite your best efforts, you’ll likely end up slipping on an errant banana peel (likely left by a Looney Toon character who happened by) and landing on your t’other end.
- Upon returning to the house, shut all the doors leading out of the kitchen, give baby pot lid and wooden spoon (or empty soda bottle and napkin) with which to entertain himself for 5-10 seconds while you simultaneously load the dishwasher and begin chopping peppers.
- Sigh and grit your teeth when he pulls down all his toys in the bathroom and commences to trying to flush the toilet. Remind yourself you love him, a couple times if necessary.
- Remove baby from bathroom and attempt to interest him in something other than the recycling bins and their contents.
- Good luck with this.
- Finish chopping peppers and dicing tomatoes in time to catch the offspring balancing precariously on the pulled out dishwasher racks. Catch him before he falls with the rack in his hand. Resist the urge to tell your pre-verbalizing progeny “Told you so.”
- Good luck with this.
- Peel and chop onions. If you’re like us, you’ll fully appreciate the smooth crunch of knife against home-grown onion; the slick white juice spilling from the split layers, burning into your cuticles, seconds before the first waft of onion hits your eyes, where it lingers a moment before really burning the s^%* out of your eyes. At the same time, the suddenly anxiety-ridden Offspring will decide he’s having serious separation issues and drop the juice bottle he’s been gnawing on to tearfully climb up your yoga pants, successfully revealing one butt cheek to the blindless kitchen windows that face the road. While you blindly rub your watering, stinging eyes against your shoulder to try and ease the pain from the so-dubbed “sweet mother of god” onions (so named because slicing them inevitably makes the cutter swear “sweet mother of god, these onions!”), your father will drive by the house on the tractor and pretend he did not just see your bare ass hanging out with the baby, a snotty hot mess, grabbing for regions he never has reasons to visit ever again.
- Curse Spousal-Type Creature for talking your overactive ovaries into reproducing.
- Once the sting has abated (and you have your pants back on), shred the cheese, and heat the olive oil in the pan. Stow baby in his playpen or a child proofed room. Not because kitchens are dangerous but because you like your sanity. (TV isn’t a babysitter, but god it helps.)
- Keep the heat to the pan a little above medium. You’ll want the eggs to cook slowly to give the veggies time to heat also. Scramble the eggs in a bowl and dump into warm pan. Allow to set up for about 30 seconds before adding the cheese and then the veg, after the cheese has had a chance to settle.
- In the meantime, try and stay out of the freezer. Booze is not always the answer. (Yes, the STC made me say that.)
- Ignore crash from living room if not followed by crying. No, I don’t understand why the kid chews on your sweaty workout shoes rather than a teether either, but whatever works.
- Gently rotate pan to ensure the eggs don’t stick. The eggs need to cook slowly all the way through without browning on the bottom. This is a great time to go reheat yourself some coffee. (If it gets a glug from the freezer, I won’t judge.)
- Try to avoid humming / singing along to baby TV. Little mom tip to another: they’ll find the acorn regardless if you sing or not, I promise.
- And that’s it. Sprinkle perfect frittata with salt and pepper to compliment all the fresh ingredients. If it’s too good to share with the offspring, again, not judging. J If you do share, remember that you asked for this eminent mauling back in the days before spit up, banana on the floor, sweatpants, and not brushing your teeth until four o’clock in the afternoon when, starry-eyed, you gazed adoringly at your beloved and said, “Why, darling, I’d love to have your babies!”
Axie Barclay is a Michigan writer with a cow-habit. Having discovered the joys and potential for growth inalternative agriculture, she quests ever longer and harder for ways to combine farming and writing into a business. When not milking cows, making disgruntled noises at the latest disgusting thing the heeler dogs dredge up, riding horses, or keeping the fence up around her small beef herd, she’s holed up reading an eclectic array of books or tapping out pages. When not working, she enjoys kicking back with her honey, family, and friends at a bonfire with some beers. Chat her up on Twitter and Facebook, /axieb, or http://barclayfarmsandlit.blogspot.com where she delves into literature and agriculture with a relish… and occasionally ketchup. Soon to be homemade.