Real Women Make Quiche

When I decided to make a quiche Lorraine from scratch this weekend - on the heels of opting not to cook a cheese souffle, as I couldn't convince anyone else to eat it with me - I had a strange affinity for the recipe. I couldn't figure it out exactly, though I do remember eating quiche regularly in the 70s (like every other North American on the planet). It wasn't until, midway through its preparation, while speaking with my mother on the phone, that she reminded me it was her "special dish" from days gone by.

My mother, a modern woman who eschewed baking in its myriad forms, actually scratched up pâte brisée routinely for her butterlicious crust. The things we forget! (Of course, somehow I haven't forgot her ill-fated savoury rutabaga experiment that was amongst the top 10 most repulsive culinary experiences of my life, but there you go. Call me glass half empty.)

I found the recipe in Julia Child's French Chef Cookbook, a fine archive of her PBS TV work in the 60s and 70s. You know how top of mind she is these days... What I love particularly about the woman is the way, utterly uncomedically, she advises about the light qualities of a dish made exclusively with butter, heavy cream and bacon! Oh, and she suggests that it's "quick and easy" - which apparently means it takes nominally less long than crossing the Bering Strait on a sunny day in June.

In fact, when I told my mother I was in the middle of baking the quiche, the first thing she said was: "that's not an fast meal". And that's how we got on the topic of her quiche expertise.

Here are a couple of shots of the finished product:



Scott and M were out for the day so I got to enjoy it solitary-style - with UK Harper's Bazaar!

My review: While not the best quiche I've ever eaten, it was certainly a success I'll build on in the future. I feel I could have salted the eggs more and cooked it 5 minutes longer, but you live, you learn. I certainly noted the absence of subtlety and that something, hallmarks of my mother's quiche. Funny how visceral memory works. Gives you something to strive for.