After my success with the Thanksgiving pie crusts, I decided to move on to savory fillings and make a quiche for dinner last night. I had some ham in the fridge, plus some garden broccoli thawed and a little onion from the basket of onions still hanging out in my living room.
I did a whole wheat crust this time–one cup whole wheat flour, 1/3 cup shortening cut in, then 3 tablespoons ice water to hold the thing together. I wrapped the pastry ball in waxed paper and refrigerated for about an hour while I did dishes and prepped the filling ingredients: about a cup of diced broccoli, 3/4 cup cubed ham, a very small onion (maybe 1/5 cup, minced).
I rolled out the crust and pressed it into the nine inch pie pan (whole wheat crust is a little more crumbly and tricky), spread the filling over the bottom, then grated some marble jack cheese over the top. A little salt, pepper, crumbled garden sage, and a sprinkle of nutmeg.
Over the top: five large eggs beaten with a cup of milk. A 350 degree oven for thirty-five minutes made it puffy and lovely and delicious–I served it with a jar of pickled pears my friend Grace passed on to me.
My ex-husband would never eat quiche after he heard someone say that “real men” didn’t eat it. One time, at an English Dept. potluck at the apartment of the visiting poet, Craig Arnold, my ex decided he didn’t like the amusing, ironic Craig very much (mostly, I think, because I did). He accosted Craig at the food table, where there were a couple of–you guessed it–quiches sitting there. I was coming out of the kitchen, and heard this exchange:
Ex (challenging): “You know, real men don’t eat quiche.”
Craig (amused): “Are you a real man?”
Ex (pissed): “Are YOU?”
Craig (even more amused): “Are YOU?”
At the time, I was completely horrified that my husband would enagage in this kind of chest-thumping ridiculousness at a work function–at MY work function, but now I just think it’s funny. Mostly because I’m not married to him anymore.
At any rate, H.–being secure enough in his manhood to eat any damn thing he pleases–enjoyed last night’s quiche thoroughly. And this morning’s chilled leftovers might have been even better.
It was really a pretty easy dish–as simple or simpler than a homemade pizza. I think there’s an idea that any dish that is remotely French must be time-consuming and difficult, but a quiche seems like a good catch-all for all kinds of savory leftovers.
Turkey-sweet potato quiche, anyone?
* I stole this image from: Dr. Rodney Karr’s website.