There are two things in life I can always count on forgetting; packing my toothbrush for a trip and that handles of skillets pulled right out of the oven are still hot.
As soon as the oven mitt comes off after removing a hot skillet from the oven, I immediately fail to remember that the steel handle is still searing and make the mistake of grabbing it. I spend the next 5 minutes running one hand under cold water while using the other hand to text my husband and ask him to pick up burn cream.
This is where I found myself a couple weeks ago while making this frittata. And while I was mad at myself for letting this happen again, I knew I would forgive myself once I tasted it.
As careless as it sounds, this cycle has been happening for well over a decade. I can remember making my first frittata in my parents kitchen with fresh tomatoes and basil from our garden. Once I had my ingredients in the skillet, I carefully placed my dish in the oven and watched it puff up and turn golden on top. I placed my mother’s marigold oven mitt on my hand, grabbed my skillet, placed it on the trivet, removed the mitt, then immediately reached for the handle. The dark scar that remains on the palm my hand is unfortunately not a strong enough reminder stop this from happening.
I love frittatas too much to let this stop me from making them. They are such a cinch to make and much like a pizza, the ingredient combinations are endless. But unlike a pizza, a frittata doesn’t necessarily need cheese (ok, neither does a pizza). This one has no added milk or cheese, but still comes out delightfully creamy and rich. The key is to not overcook the eggs. After about 8 minutes in the oven, I start to watch my frittata like a hawk. As soon as it puffs up and the top loses it’s glossy sheen, I pull the skillet from the oven.
Starchy russet potatoes and zucchini make this frittata a super hearty breakfast perfect for weekend mornings. The leftovers will keep for 2-3 days and reheat beautifully in the microwave.
There are some things in life I’ve come to accept. The first one is that sometimes it’s necessary to use my husband’s toothbrush on vacation (sorry, hubs) and the second is that my love of a good frittata is too strong to let third degree burns stop me from making them.