cauliflower frittata


of all things. but i was impressed by the tunesian frittata suggested by rose shulman in the times the other day. since stephanie lurves, can't barely contain herself for any sort of cauliflower dish, she even eats the stuff raw, and this is apparently not that simple instant affair, here, there and soon forgotten, but the real thing. i've brought home heads of cauliflower on consecutive days, only to find the entire thing missing. of course you would never question her where it might  have gone, she relies relentlessly on the cat, on various mice (we don't entertain mice at all. there are traps for that and, after all we do have this virgin cat, as concerns catching mice, she likes to watch). the frigidaire ate it. better still, it vaporized. we have lots of that. vaporizing. both inside and outside the fridge.
and while i'm at it, seems like my east-coast friend is right: never, ever suggest a recipe. butter is simply not butter. like a camembert. if it's ripe and from france and un-pasteurized, it is very, very good. if it ain't, fawgetaboutit. or, take the amount of pepper. many cooks simply grind at the mill. same with salt. sea salt, of course. preferably hand selected at a beach in that briny domain of northern france, certainly not in tunesia. hey, nothing against tunesia. which brings me 'round again to this here frittata. there's eggs in them there thing. eight. and five hand-chopped hard-boileds. lots and lots of the best olive oil, what ever that might be. at present, and locally available, we have the seventy-eight dollar version. no, no, no, no. this isn't five gallons worth, but a very pretty green bottle of a mere three-quarter liter content. oh, at my budget that would be about a week's worth of my overall bread and board expenditures. not to sidetrack too much. and i like harissa. what guy wouldn't. 'xepting i am fresh out of harissa. so i used my best, over the counter available, hot, very hot, paprica, aka a mild cayenne. we live in oregon, not in tunesia, after all.



so, here it is: at forty-five minutes in a three-fifty oven, lightly dark around the edges, so, beware: a black cast-iron pan cooks darker around the rim than in the center. but you knew that. 
they don't do mushrooms in tunesia. i did. i like a sharp romano instead of the parmesan. way more salt. and talk about garlic. oh well, i used two heads, slow roasted in olive oil. incidentally, has anyone noticed that garlic simply isn't that mediterranean, hot sun grown item? the kind, if you'd exhale three days later would kill your best lover? well, in portland you're lucky to get good stuff from california. even that doesn't do that fabulous garlic related warming of the heart thing. so i use lots more than any recipe might suggest. 
in the end it was a success. the cat liked it, i was told, upon the contrarily disparate evanesce of half the pie by mid morning.