Sometimes I wake up beside a half-eaten sandwich. Sometimes I wake up alone. Whatever the case, I always wake up--it just keeps on happening--and often my belly is full when I do. Last night I came home from the bar, wrote several poems, none of which I remember nor care to, and then decided that I should absolutely make myself this sandwich. Spiced kidney beans, granary bread from Bread Euphoria, a slathering of cream cheese, shredded raw Hadley cabbage, and one Diemand Farm egg, sunny side up.
Glory be, hosanna in the highest. Let me tell you about the spiced beans:
Spiced beans (your choice):
First and foremost, these spiced beans are a variation on the re-fried bean recipe I've been honing since oh-seven. Classic re-fried beans, or frijoles refritos, are usually made with pinto beans and lard. My hunch is that because dry pinto beans are cheaper per pound than any other bean, and thus the most-wallet friendly bean, they are thus the basis of this staple food. But let's face it, all dry beans are cheap, so there must be other reasons, and so some deductive reasoning tells us that pinto beans are probably (a) the most readily available bean, or (b) that pinto beans become ultra smooth when fully cooked, i.e. perfect for re-fried beans (which is a mistranslation; it really means "well fried" beans), or that (c) none of this really matters and I am simply enjoying typing. Right, spiced beans...
It is best to start with dry beans. Soak your beans over night and drain the soaking water in the morning. If you have houseplants, which is not a mistranslation, reserve the bean water for your plants.
Rinse and drain your beans until the water runs clear. Add enough cold, fresh water to your beans to cover them and then some. If you wish, add some garlic cloves, peppercorns, and a bay leaf to your pot (they bay leaf will make your beans more digestible), bring your beans to a boil, let them boil for a few minutes, reduce the heat to low, cover and simmer until finished, stirring ocassionally. DO NOT SALT YOUR BEANS UNTIL THEY ARE FULLY COOKED. If you add salt too soon, their casings will become tough. Salt your beans appropriately when they are still hot. Stir.
In a large, heavy pot or big cast iron skillet, sautee onions, chili flakes, black pepper, and whole spices: coriander seeds, cumin seeds. If you use a variety of chili flakes, you will get a "rounder" more complex flavor.
When your onions are somewhat caramelized, and when the aroma of your spices is unbearably amazing, go ahead and toss in some chopped garlic if you like. When the garlic (if using garlic) becomes aromatic, dump in a pile of beans and enough of your cooked bean water to cover them--you want them to look like little islands, bobbing in a beany sea--and simmer them on medium heat until they are almost dry. Then add a pretty good hunk of butter. Don't be shy. The butter will make your beans smoother. Finally, add some honey or agave syrup. Here, be shy. You don't want to make candy. You want just enough sweetness to take the sharp, metallic edge off your spiced beans. Finally finally, if your beans are dry, add more liquid or butter. If you want to mash some of the beans--highly recommended--do that. You will be happy. Eat them and go directly to bed.
oh, p.s., I now use whole spices instead of ground spices in this recipe because their flavors still permeate the beans, but you also get delightful little pops of flavor when you chomp into a whole coriander or cumin seed. And one could always experiment with other whole spices.
Beautiful things come in the morning. This morning I woke up damn early and hopped out of bed, happy and puzzled. Why did I feel so good? No clue. I watched the clock and waited for the River Valley Market to open its doors. I wanted to procure a pound of Pierce Brother's, Fog Buster coffee. Pierce Brothers air roast their coffee, and I buy the oily beans with joy. But I digress, if only a little. Good frittatas are like all good things: they take time, my dear readers, so be patient.
Actually, frittatas are easy to make, and with practice you can make them rapidly. I had not intended to make one this morning, but I cannot pass up a Peruvian blue potato or a dozen eggs from nearby Diemand Farm. I could also not pass up an un-sliced slab of Vermont made bacon, or a pint of gorgeous, Mapleline Farms heavy cream. And, in case you think I cannot one-up myself, apparently I needed a baggie of smoked paprika and a free apple. It is good and right to pay top dollar for locally grown and produced food.
Peruvian blue and leek frittata:
Potatoes!
The trick is the potatoes. They must be fully cooked, toothsome and smooth, but never falling apart. Bring some water to a boil (only enough to cover and then a tad more) and add your salt. Spoon up a baby pond of salty water, blow on it, and taste it. You want it as salty as you do your potatoes (you choose). So, then you plop your papas into the salted water and cook them at a very low simmer. Don't boil them. A vigorous boil will degrade them. Take the time to cook them slowly. Strain them when they are cooked through, and set them aside to cool down.
Eggs!
Get yourself some eggs you feel good about. Generally, you want one large egg per small potato. If you throw the ratio too far towards the potato heavy side, your frittata will fall apart when you remove it from the iron skillet. So, crack your eggs into a mixing bowl and add any other seasoning ingredients, including salt and pepper. Make sure you use enough salt. You can put salt onto a frittata, but after it is cooked you can never put salt into one. Remember that. You can always test the saltiness of the egg by cooking up a spoonful of it. Now, add some heavy cream (or half-and-half, or some cooled potato cooking water) to your eggs and whisk in. Adding liquid to the eggs creates the rising effect you want. The water steams and the frittata rises accordingly. Later, it falls. All things do.
Leeks: you've got options, kiddo!
Leeks are optional. Frittatas are flexible. Accent yours with anything you like. I often add cheese, both inside and on top. I generally add fresh chopped herbs to the eggs. Do whatever you like. Add cheap baloney if it tickles your fancy.
How to cook a frittata perfectly:
A well-seasoned, cast iron skillet is absolutely necessary. Ingredient quantities, naturally, depend on the size of your skillet. It's like buying pants, people. You generally match them to the amount of rump you have. Also, if you don't have a cast iron skillet, you should, but you can use any skillet that holds heat and, preferably, can withstand a few minutes under the broiler. Ok, moving forward.
Don't skimp on the oil! Use plenty of olive oil. Pour a load of it into your skillet and put the gas on quite low. Absolutely do not make your pan/oil too hot! Browned or burned eggs are bad. Frittatas cook slowly; high heat turns your frittata into an inedible disc. If you mess this up, go to Denny's and order the Grand Slam, i.e. you whacked your dish out of the park.
Right, after your oil is warmed up enough to just barely set the eggs, pour the egg mixture into the pan. The egg mixture should have your cooled potatoes in it, BTW. If you put enough oil into the pan, it should creep up the sides of the pan and create some small flooding on top of the eggs. This is good. This is what you want to happen. Then, keep your frittata cooking at a low heat on the burner until it is partially set and transfer it to a 250 degree oven. When your frittata is a glorious, yellow balloon, remove it, shave some Parmesan onto the top, fling your sweated leeks onto it, etc etc etc, and pop it under the broiler until the top takes color. You are now done. Well, almost.
If your pan is properly seasoned, and you used enough oil, your frittata will plop out intact. Hold a plate over the pan and invert! Presto! Upside-down frittata. Sandwich with another plate and invert! Presto! Right-side-up frittata. Slice and serve with crusty, white bread. I ate mine with a Pugliese loaf made right here in Northampton by Old School Bakery.
Sometimes I wake up beside a half-eaten sandwich. Sometimes I wake up alone. Whatever the case, I always wake up--it just keeps on happening--and often my belly is full when I do. Last night I came home from the bar, wrote several poems, none of which I remember nor care to, and then decided that I should absolutely make myself this sandwich. Spiced kidney beans, granary bread from Bread Euphoria, a slathering of cream cheese, shredded raw Hadley cabbage, and one Diemand Farm egg, sunny side up.
Glory be, hosanna in the highest. Let me tell you about the spiced beans:
