A beautiful sunshiny morning. The air is clear and bright. The maple trees stand tall throwing crisp clean trunk shadows across the street. Their leaves filter the morning sun and carpet the lawn with patches of clear yellows and golds.
I wanted to make a fast breakfast this morning and get to my studio. The morning was just beckoning me to write. But the quick breakfast evolved into a brunch worthy of my farmer-architect husband-father. While he fielded phone calls from his daughters in Ohio, I whipped up a ham, onion, spinach frittata and parmesan french toast made from last night's foccacia. Served it up with a fresh made strawberry jam. I have to confess - wow! I'm not really great at being an improvisational cook, but I surprised us both this morning.
Dinner tonight is more of a planned affair. My farmer-architect requested chicken - made with 'Chicken Sunday' chicken (see June 15 blog post). This will be a personal challenge. A confrontation of graphic imagination and culinary duty. Friends have assured me that once I taste our chicken gustatory delight will triumph over gory detail. I'll report on the outcome of their assurance later tonight.
I must say that I have become a whiz at the frittata. Thank you to Marcella Hazan and her classic cookbook Essentials of Italian Cooking. I also like Lynn Rosetto Kasper for Italian recipe inspiration.
But now - strawberries call. We're heading out to the Roundball Garden to pick fresh strawberries which will make their way into Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie for the Father's Day dinner.