“He’s reeling them in like a fisherman with a trout on the line!”
It’s July, and that can only mean one thing: it’s hotter than the innermost circle of Hell the Tour de France. And the Tour brings with it the best commentators in all of sport: Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen and Bob Roll, the cracked-out Zen master of cycling color commentary.
“Bridge to engine room: more power! But there is no more.”
I live for this shit.
In honor of the Tour and in recognition of the fact that it’s too hot today to expend energy chewing, let alone actually cooking, dinner tonight was cheese omelettes with crusty bread and a side of greens lightly dressed in a white balsamic vinaigrette.
“Lance Armstrong is the eye of the hurricane and he’s headed straight for the Jan Ullrich trailer park.”
I’d wanted croissants, but I got to the bakery too late and had to settle for a pullman loaf instead; the leftovers are destined to become another homage to the Tour, French toast.
“Well, there you are: never trust a Dutchman.”
Brian is the omelette master of the house, so he threw the eggs together while I acted as egg papparazzi. He uses the method laid out in the Joy of Cooking. Or possibly Julia Child; he doesn’t remember and the books are all the way upstairs, where the air conditioner is off.
Let the eggs sit out on the counter for 10 or 15 minutes to take the chill off. Brown some butter (for extra flavor taste; that’s Brian personal touch), add the beaten eggs to the hot pan and stir in a circle with a fork as you shake the pan back and forth. I don’t get the whole stirring-shaking thing, but it works.
“He’s really having to dig deeply into the suitcase of courage.”
Then you let it sit for 20 seconds to firm up. Add your filling – not too much – and slide a fork around the edge of the omelette to make sure it doesn’t stick.
“He is a subhuman mutant of epic proportions.”
Then fold one third over, and flip the omelette onto itself while sliding it on to the plate. The middle should be nice and creamy (but still fully cooked), the outside set.
“Kilometers are passing like kidney stones.”
I whisked together a quick dressing of white balsamic vinegar and olive oil emulsified with a little dijon mustard, tossed the greens in it, poured a glass of white wine and dinner was served.
Brian truly is the omelette master. The innards were perfectly moist, the cheese melted into the soft egg. Each bite was a silky pillow on the tongue. White balsamic is my new favorite thing. And best of all, dinner was dished up without heating up the kitchen and in time to catch the prime time viewing of Stage 3 of the Tour. There are cobblestones! Exciting. I know you care.
Some other things you might choose to eat if you are stuck in a similar heat wave:
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