how to eat like a bird

a Top Chef recipe: Hung's tuna tartare

Is that a bunch of ingredients thrown on a plate? Is that my mise en place? No, it's Hung's tuna tartare from the "Restaurant Wars" episodes of Top Chef--just less artistic, less composed, and less refined.

I did try (see below). I like pretty food, even winsome food, and have fantasized plenty of shaping rice balls into happy teddy bears and Hello Kitty. But here I felt like I was copying in the most amateurish and slavish fashion, as shown on TV. My hand shook as a schmear of vinaigrette turned into a puddle and toast points got cold as I struggled to form some sort of architectural structure. I think if you don't have the steady hands and particular finesse of an experienced chef, home cooking is best served by a rakish haphazardness that should probably bring to mind Mario Batali more than Daniel Boulud, even if the latter was perhaps the most tactful and gentle-spoken guest judge ever to grace the show.

Now, onto the creative part of this endeavor: deciphering Bravo's recipe. Normally I wouldn't dare attempt one of their recipes. Their site is a headache to navigate and even if you can find the dish you're searching for, you'll run into a general, stupefying lack of detail with some inconsistencies mixed in for added befuddlement. Nearly half the comments on any given recipe amount to "Are you kidding me?" The other half consists of wishful commentary remarking that the food sure did look good on TV, and then there is the wee percentage who roll their eyes and point out that they have in fact made the very dish in question and if you knew what you were doing, you could make it too without all the hand-holding specifics, retards.

But Hung's tuna tartare take on a salad Nicoise was looked upon with such favor by the judges that my curiosity was piqued, especially because I didn't think I knew what an Egg Vinaigrette was. See, when it's capitalized like that, it throws you off.

To my surprise, there was a short and tidy list of common enough ingredients. I knew the measurements were suspect, but the recipe seemed so simple, I figured I could work with it. It actually seemed to be a 30-minute meal, wasn't sized for several dozen people, and while guest judge Geoffrey Zakarian deemed tuna tartare a cliche in the second and conclusive episode, he did cite it in a later interview as his favorite dish of the night.

That comment perhaps raised my expectations too high because I forgot that a lot of the other food on the show was problematic or just plain bad. This was indeed "delicate" and as Daniel Boulud said, "a real bistro dish." If you were served it for lunch, you'd be delighted with it. The flavor of the egg vinaigrette is bright and clean against the sweet mellowness of the tuna, and for all the refinement of presentation (Hung's, not mine), the flavors are familiar and almost even homey (toast and eggs anyone?). It's a salad Nicoise deconstructed, after all, and it's done very well.

I suspect a lot of the appeal resided in the delight in contrast between its precious bejeweled look (did Padma say it was so pretty she didn't want to eat it?) and the comfort of accessible flavors. Mine was not so refined (or as properly and beautifully seasoned, I am sure), so I was not so surprised. Would I make it again? I prefer my tuna tartares with Asian flavors, but I would keep the egg vinaigrette in my repertoire and use that and all the other components (save the $18.99 per pound tuna) in an actual, hearty salad Nicoise.

Here is the ingredient list, as posted on Bravo's site. The parentheticals are my notes.

Serves four as an appetizer and two as a main course.

Adapted from bravotv.com.

Tuna Tartare with Nicoise Olives

• 8 g tuna, diced  (they mean 8 ounces or half a pound of sushi-grade tuna--only crack cocaine and saffron come in grams)
• 1 T chives, chopped
• 1 T salt (maybe they mean kosher salt; I used fine sea salt and half a tablespoon was more than enough)
• 1 t pepper (used a sprinkle)
• 1 t paprika (start with half a teaspoon and season to taste)
• 1 cup nicoise olives (3/4 cup is plenty)
• 8 white asparagus (I used haricot vert (French green beans))
• (You also need something to make a cracker or toast points. I used a slice of good white bread.)

Egg Vinaigrette

• 2 boiled eggs, chopped fine
• 1/4 cup mayonnaise
• 3 T sherry vinaigrette
• 1 t sugar
• 1 t salt (again, maybe they mean kosher; start with 1/4 teaspoon and season to taste)

(This makes a lot of vinaigrette. If you don't want a lot leftover, half everything with the exception of the 2 boiled eggs which are used as garnish. Half of 1/4 cup is 2 tablespoons.) 

This dish has a lot of small components to remember, but nothing took a long time. I started boiling the eggs first, and did indeed finish in 30 minutes or so. Mix the tuna with chives and season. Place in fridge. ---My sushi-grade tuna acquired from Citarella tasted a little fishy at first, but after seasoning and a few minutes in the fridge, it tasted fine.

Sauté the white asparagus or haricot vert briefly so it's cooked but retains a crunch. Green beans, even French ones, won't be as dressy as white asparagus but they're almost always found in Nicoise salads, and I liked them very much here. Set aside.

Sauté the olives. I think this is primarily so they're easy to pit. I wanted them to retain a texture closer to raw than cooked, so pitting them was the fussiest part of this recipe for me. After pitting, chop finely and set aside.   

Make the vinaigrette by mixing the mayonnaise and the sherry vinegar, and season. Mine was runnier than the one pictured, but it tasted good. Add less vinegar if you want a thicker consistency. Chop the eggs fine to garnish over the vinaigrette.

Toast bread, cut crusts off, and slice into 1-inch rows.

Plate everything as a separate component, so it looks like a deconstructed salad Nicoise. Marvel that you prepared raw fish and lived to tell the tale. Enjoy!

a green tomato vinaigrette

This dressing's a potential keeper. But not on iceberg lettuce. Even with a jalapeño garnish, it lacked the texture and pungency to break through the anemia of supermarket iceberg. I longed for a chunky Roquefort or even a spicy carrot and ginger slaw.

But as directed by the original Food and Wine recipe, it would be perfect on an assortment of juicy heirloom tomatoes. It's creamy and mildly tangy--I tend to like any dressing with a rice vinegar base--and it's more interesting than your standard balsamic. It's also simple to make.

You take your lone green tomato (one in its prime would perhaps be best, but I thought this recipe a good way to use one past its prime and unfit for any other function, i.e., being tossed in cornmeal and fried in butter for a fried green tomato BLT sandwich), boil it in water for 7 minutes until the skin has softened a bit, let it sit in an ice bath of cold water, peel the skin and core it, and blend in large chunks with one-quarter cup of rice vinegar, 6 tablespoons of canola oil added gradually, a healthy pinch of sugar, and sea salt and cracked black pepper to taste. I had seasoned rice vinegar so I didn't add the sugar--only a dash of salt and the pepper.

You can let this sit in the fridge for three days. Food and Wine suggests sprinkling minced chilies over the tomatoes, so that wasn't my wacky idea on the iceberg. I liked it because it added some piquancy and crunch, and since I'm done undermining a perfectly good STAFF FAVORITE recipe for my own capricious purposes (didn't want to go out of my way for fresh summer tomatoes that will only be here for a few more weeks), I would suggest you try it their way.      

confession: mac and cheese pancakes

If one sees macaroni and cheese pancakes on a menu, is it not incumbent upon one to order said pancakes if only for novelty's sake? These pancakes are the work of Shopsin's, and not nearly as indulgent as they look or sound because even I could have no more than two. About six come to an order, and everyone at your table will want one, making it easy to disperse the calories.

These are not so much rich as they are regressive. The cheddar was mild and the elbow noodles, soft. I felt like a toddler using surprisingly grown-up silverware. A plastic spork would have done the job just as well. But the batter was light, lacy, yielding, and it's easy to see why they offer over 20 different kinds of pancakes on their menu.

Located at the southern end of the Essex Street Market (120 Essex Street, between Delancey and Rivington), Shopsin's is open from 9-3, Tuesdays through Saturdays.

Related: a lunch at Shopsin's on Essex.

a strawberry and tomato gazpacho

When I used to cook not so frequently, I would only be attracted to recipes with an ingredient list as long as my forearm. The word quenelle incited me like no other. But now I adore recipes with three ingredients. This one contains strawberries, tomatoes, and balsamic vinegar.

It's refreshing and balanced. Boring after the first few spoonfuls, but this is the kind of thing that's best served as a light first course, perhaps in small clear glasses, so no one would have more than a few spoonfuls anyway. But I made this for myself, resulting in a huge batch leftover. And, you know what? I got attached to it. The flavors deepened overnight. It was both sweet and slightly vegetal. I had it for breakfast, I had it for dessert, I had it for a palate cleanser. It all worked. I felt chockful of antioxidants.

If anyone ever feels the need to detox and eat leek soup for days on end, I think this would be a good alternative for the warmer months. It tastes fresh and summery as well as looks the part, and there's a body to the texture that is appealing and satisfying.

Adapted from Patricia Wells's Vegetable Harvest.

Makes 8 servings.

• 1 pound fresh tomatoes, cored and quartered (do not peel)
• 1 pound fresh strawberries, stems removed
• 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

In a food processor or blender, puree the tomatoes and strawberries. Add the vinegar and blend. Salt to taste and chill at least one hour before serving.

a prosciutto and arugula pie at Isabella's Oven

The best reason for not eating this entire pizza right then and there was the leftover slice I got to take home and nosh on at one in the morning, straight out of the box at room temperature. It was even better then when I no longer felt full from beer, half a rice ball, and the two slices I did have. I wished I'd portioned better to have more leftovers. Isabella's brick oven pizza is thin and light with a crisp elastic crust that didn't turn soggy at all, even many hours later.

I harbored no guilt over my midnight rendezvous with prosciutto, carbohydrate, and cheese because, as you can clearly see, that's some arugula strewn on top. And, in all candor, this pizza is so light and good it's easy to inhale four or five slices quickly (as my friend with the fast metabolism did), so I felt I'd been rather restrained.

If I had to do it all over again though, I'd skip the just okay rice ball even though it came with a better than okay red sauce. I wouldn't skip the Peroni though, because Isabella's back garden is so pleasant and charming in all its own accord--even with the cheap plastic seats--that it practically calls for one to kick back with a beer. If I could have thrown a stick at some kids and told them to get the hell off my lawn, I would have.

Isabella's Oven is at 365 Grand Street, between Essex and Norfolk.

to do: a caprese granita and other winners from the tomato issue of The Washington Post

I love that The Washington Post has a special tomato issue. It makes me think they featured a prominent front page photo of Karl Rove being peppered with tomatoes, left and right, as he stepped out of the White House for the last time. The caption underneath would detail his favorite preparation for the ripe produce he was dodging.

Of course, unimaginatively enough, the Post relegated its tomato discourse to the Food and Dining section. They do, however, offer a couple of appealing recipes garnered from a readers' contest featuring the tomato and no more than 10 ingredients. I place much faith in readers' recipes because they tend to send in ones that in their experience have been universally validated. They are tried and true and, as the 72-year-old second-place winner said of her fresh tomato sauce, in her head "like it's in steel."

The winning entry (out of over 345 entries), the caprese granita, envelops a small dollop of mascarpone cheese between two layers of tomato granita made from a macerated mixture of tomatoes, garlic, salt, and vinegar. (The mixture is frozen and shaved to make light, icy crystals). It sounds like it would be icy, creamy, and a little acidic all at once, and I have yet to have even a mediocre experience with anything involving mascarpone. I look forward to making this when I have the will to shave ice every 45 minutes for a period of four hours.

And did I learn anything new from The New York Times this week? I learned that you can use the word "farinaceous" outside of your industrial agriculture/food science class, as long as you have the whimsy to say that the corner of Grand and Essex is getting even "wheatier" with the addition of new pizzeria on the block, Isabella's Oven.   

a burrito of sorts: the summer roll

I've had a package of Vietnamese rice paper wrappers for about a year now. Guess what? They're fine! My friend Gloria brought over some organic basil, and we made these with seared tofu, cucumber, carrots, and alfalfa sprouts. But you can use shrimp and mint or whatever ingredients you want. The glass mung bean noodles weren't quite the standard rice vermicelli, but they were fine and suited our purposes well. The result, dipped in a nuoc cham sauce was refreshing, delicious, and surprisingly filling. Much more of a success story, said Gloria, than her previous attempt (made with beef brisket and salsa...see, you can put anything in these).

Making these summer rolls provides you with all the joys of cooking that one keeps hearing about, without the sweat and tears. The fragrance of the fresh basil hits you as does the visual pleasure in seeing all the colorful elements of your roll peek through the translucent wrapper, made delicate and pliable after a reconstituting dip in a bowl of water. Nevermind structural theory, place the most aesthetically pleasing items first so they will be sure to appear through the wrapper.

The most difficult part was julienning the carrots, which I then marinated in some of the fish sauce-based nuoc cham sauce. And I would, next time, press the firm tofu with a weighted plate for a few minutes to get the water out, then slice in strips and sear it on all sides. You can also dab a bit of Hoisin on the tofu, if you like. Here are more detailed instructions on wrapping a summer roll, along with a recipe for a peanut sauce.

Here is the recipe for the nuoc cham dipping sauce, which I prefer over a peanut sauce. The parentheticals are my notes.

Adapted from The Greatest Dishes: Around the World in 80 Recipes by Anya Von Bremzen.

Makes 11/3 cups.

• 5 tablespoons of sugar
• 2/3 cup water
• 1/3 cup fresh lime juice
• 6 or 7 tablespoons fish sauce, to taste (I used Golden Boy, which is supposed to be a good brand, along with these brands.)
• 1 large garlic clove, crushed
• 3 or 4 red bird's eye chilies, thinly sliced (optional)
• 2 to 3 tablespoons cilantro (optional)

In a small saucepan, heat the water and sugar until the sugar dissolves. Let cool. Add the other ingredients. Let stand for 30 minutes before serving.

confession: Chipotle

A few years ago, I walked into a spanking new Chipotle's and tried a carnitas (pork) burrito that was so salty, I took a few bites and never went back. That is, until two weeks ago. A friend of mine mentioned that her sister liked the chain. Now, her sister is a marathon-running, edamame-loving skinny girl who doesn't own a TV set on principle, so this took me by surprise. Perhaps the oversalted pork was a relic of the past.

I figured I'd try it again sometime, but chocked it up to a hypothetical in the far future. But lo and behold, two days after that conversation, there it was, beckoning to me across Broadway on 110th Street, just as I'd been scanning the landscape for something to eat and just as the principles of The Secret decreed. If you envision it, it will come. For some people, it's a parking space; for me, it's an oversized burrito.

There was a buzz to the place. It was prime lunch time, and people there looked like content squirrels, holding onto their rather large portions blanketed in foil. I wanted to join them. The line moved quickly, the lady in front of me ordered a barbacoa burrito--the braised beef--and all thoughts of a grilled chicken bowl, sans flour tortilla, left my head as I found myself parroting back after her. I knew it wasn't necessarily what a skinny person would order, but I wanted to experience Chipotle in all its injudicious glory.

I sat down with my burrito loaded with rice, black beans, the shredded braised beef, hot salsa, and sour cream. The tortilla was warm and the rice buttery and speckled with cilantro. It was tasty. But salty once the beef and maybe the beans entered the equation. Not so salty that I wasn't able to finish the whole thing this time, but enough that I wondered why no one else seemed to be frowning in bewilderment at the amount of salt in their food. The next day my face felt swollen and tight at the same time from all the sodium.

Chipotle doesn't publish nutritional information on their site, maybe because while they tout the integrity of their ingredients, it doesn't mean that calorie, fat, and sodium counts aren't sky high. According to this calculation, the burrito I had contained over 1,100 calories, 44 grams of fat, and a whopping 3,551 mg of sodium. It's recommended that an adult not exceed 2,400 mg of sodium daily. Even if you skip the beef, that only brings it down to about 800 calories--1,000 if you add the guacamole which is included as an option for a vegetarian burrito and which contains nearly the same amount of fat and sodium.

Perversely all this research only made me want to try another burrito. While it had been way too salty for my taste, I had enjoyed the mouthfeel of all the different ingredients. Even the rice tasted velvety. Basically, Chipotle is designed to make you crave their particular brand of fat and salt, and there are plenty of testimonies from people who claim they are addicted. But I also wanted to create my own concoction that would play down the salt factor. Perhaps I could even get away with ordering the barbacoa if they heaped a ton of guacamole on it? Sure, my face would still balloon up but I wouldn't taste the salt as much. Or a veggie with just the rice and beans and ALL the salsas? I think this is how these "do it your way" places get you hooked. Eventually, if you go enough, you'll tweak until something is to your liking. I never appreciated Subway until I had the Italian BMT with 35 pickles. 

Thankfully, any branch of Chipotle is out of my way for now, so maybe I'll forget about it. It seems a shame to be addicted to some giant burrito that's been slapped with salt when one can get a nicely chargrilled carne al pastor taco with fresh cilantro, lime, and radish with a made-on-the-premises salsa at any one of a number of places in East Harlem, one being Taco Mix. These tacos are whisper light as they hit the plate and they won't show up on your face the next day.

a ginger and honey tea

I'm sick and feeling sorry for myself. Summer colds are kind of a wretched thing because it's too cold with the A/C on, and way too muggy without it. Thankfully a good friend of mine made this tea for me, which I drink both hot and cold, depending on how I'm feeling. It's a traditional Korean ginger tea, and something my mother also makes, with the addition of dried plums and pine nuts. Dok Suni will sell it to you for around seven bucks, with a shot of bourbon in it. But it's easy enough to concoct on your own.

Select a large piece of ginger, just smaller than the size of your hand. You can choose to peel the ginger, or not peel it, but clean it. My friend peels it. Slice in the manner of cutting carrots for a chicken soup, and place into a large teapot or medium-size pot of water with a very optional cinnamon stick. If you're not using a generous amount of ginger, try filling the pot only halfway. You can always add more water if it's too strong for your taste, but you'll have to wait forever for the flavor to come through if you start with too much water.

Let it come to a boil and then simmer for about 20 minutes. Add as much honey as you want. You can have some at this point, or you can add more water. This is a recipe that can be easily adjusted to taste. Ideally, it should be light and sweet with a kick of ginger that tickles the throat. If you're sick and congested like me, it should be strong and medicinal, and it should leave a vaporous vacuum down your throat. You can also let it simmer down to an even more concentrated form, and use that as a base for your tea, filling a mug with hot water or a pitcher with cold water to drink at your convenience.

Whether you're sick or not, it's nice to have a cold pitcher of this in the fridge as a summer staple. With a few slices of lemon in a tall glass, the light amber color is reminiscent of a sweetened iced tea but the bracing hint of ginger, tempered by honey, is refreshing without being cloyingly sweet.

how I weaned myself off Coke

It actually took therapy. When I was little, I used to come home from school and fix myself a glass of Coke. I'd pour a newly opened Coke into a short, wide tumbler, over ice that cracked under the quiet fizz of carbonation. I'd swish the ice cubes around and sip it like it was Scotch, as I settled down with my sister to catch the last half of our favorite soap, Santa Barbara.

I didn't get into all this with my therapist, Bob. I only told him that I felt tired almost all the time. Coke only came up as I waved around a half-empty bottle, claiming it was the source of any personality I may have. It was our first meeting, and it was 9am. Or rather, 9:10, as I had asked my cab driver to pull over by a deli so I could run in for a Coke, having fervently imagined during the ride all the horrors of an hour-long meeting in the morning with no caffeine whatsoever, much less a meeting where I may have to answer prodding questions, and look into myself. What would I do with my hands?

Bob asked me if I drank Coke a lot. I said I would die without it. He calmly suggested I not drink caffeine after 5pm, and keep a sleeping log for a couple of weeks. So, I did. And it wasn't very hard because I could still have it in the morning when I needed it most, and at 4:59 to carry me through the rest of the day. I had heard of moderation before but, for me, it had never held the dramatic import of, say, cutting soda, sugar, dairy, and refined carbs from one's diet all in the same week. Of course, that kind of plan only makes you want those things more. I knew from experience Coke would only taste better after a couple days of withdrawal, filled with lethargy and headaches. I would get through the headaches only to reward myself with a cold, bubbly Coke.

As it turns out, I'm not an insomniac. Without an after-dinner coffee or a Coke to accompany a midnight snack, it started becoming easier and easier to fall asleep before 3am. Who knew? (In my defense, in college I used to fall asleep immediately after drinking three cans of Coke in preparation for a long night of studying, so it didn't occur to me what an effect it was having on my sleep habits.)

By the time I saw Bob again in two weeks, I was actually feeling sleepy before midnight, and falling asleep within 20 minutes of going to bed. I woke up naturally in the morning, rather than to a beleaguered alarm set perpetually on snooze. And no longer found it necessary to have a Coke first thing in the morning to prop open my eyelids. I still had one, but it was more out of habit than absolute necessity. Feeling just the tiniest bit healthier, I started drinking more tea, especially in the afternoon for a pick-me-up, realizing I liked honey Darjeeling and green teas with nothing added, rather then my usual Earl Grey with whole milk, or sometimes half and half, and three teaspoons of sugar, followed later by a soda. When I came in from the heat, I made sure I had ice-cold water on hand to quench my thirst before reaching for a Coke. I'd still reach for one--but it's not the same refreshing experience when you're already full from water. I drank much less.

My biggest substitution success, though, came from a Kombucha tea drink, which, like Coke, comes cold, fizzy, and bottled. Like Coke, I could drink it with a straw. Unlike Coke, it is only 30-50 calories a serving and supposedly good for you. I won't go into any health benefits here, as I don't think anything's been scientifically proven, but it's a cultured tea drink that supposedly helps with digestion and metabolism. People with liver problems shouldn't drink this. There's residual caffeine, comparable to decaf coffee, and a low amount of sugar (about 2 grams, which is half a teaspoon, in the brand that I drink, and none of it is in the form of high fructose corn syrup).

It also gives me a slight buzz, which I don't think I'm imagining because there's a trace amount of alcohol in there from the fermentation process. But instead of making me feel drowsy soon after, like any other kind of alcohol, it simply goes away after having done it's part (making me feel awake and spry). It's sour, tart taste is one to be acquired. But I love vinegar and anything acidic, so took to this right away. My favorite flavors are Gingerade and Passionfruit. If you're trying it for the first time, I'd suggest trying one like the Passionfruit, which contains some fruit juice. Whole Foods actually has a good price for this, at $3.19 a bottle. It's pricey, but the recommendation is to drink only half a bottle a day initially, the cost of which is equivalent to what I was spending on Coke anyway. You can make it yourself at very little cost. But I'm afraid I won't be able to tell bad spores from good spores.

I've been drinking it for a while, but I still try to keep it down to half a bottle a day or one every other day, both for cost reasons and because I don't think too much of anything can be a good thing. It just helps me wake up. And now when I do drink Coke sometimes, it doesn't taste sublime like the other times I've stayed away. It tastes awfully sweet. And syrupy. And flat. (Kombucha keeps its natural fizz for a longer period of time.)

Which is not to say I've stopped drinking Coke altogether. There are certain foods that call for it. (Greasy, fried, fatty foods.) But I don't need to buy it in bulk anymore. I kind of still feel anxious if there isn't one in the fridge, but I won't need to have the one I do keep in the fridge for a while. I don't feel compelled to drink it simply because it's there.

This has been a long post, so let us now sum up in bullet points for those of you with attention deficit and for those of you who, like me, dearly love a bullet point (not to mention a dry-erase board):

• Do not ban Coke and fixate on it as an evil object of addiction. Rather, place it in the bigger picture--in my case, the evil that is caffeine after 5pm, depriving me of sweet, sweet sleep. (You need some clear purpose in mind, so it's not just an arbitrary choice and so you can look for results. In this case, being able to sleep and wake up early.)
• Be a pragmatist, not an ideologue. That is, be George Bush, Sr. not Dick Cheney. Sure, caffeine and high fructose corn syrup can be couched in evil terms, but be realistic. Work with it. Set limits, such as the 5pm time limit. Sometimes I go past this now, but go back to it when I feel like I'm having one too many Cokes (usually during a period when I am stressed).
• Practice substitution. Find a healthy alternative. God-willing, one that gives you a buzz. FIXATE on it and become equally addicted to that. 

a none-too-ravishing crespéou

This falls a little short of the nine-layer crespéou featured in the L.A. Times as the "Big Night of Provencal cooking." It looks more like a hangover remedy. But I think it embodies the original intent of the dish, which is to use up all the odds and ends of what's left in the vegetable bin by way of stacking thin, open-faced omelets, one over the other. I only had 11 eggs, so this is a five-and-a-half-layer crespéou. You can then compress the whole thing with some kind of weight (an additional plate held down with some cans), so it becomes one unit, and all the flavors meld together. --It tastes much better the next day. 

I basically followed the recipe, with some consolidation to save on time and eggs, placing spinach and shitake mushrooms in the same two-egg omelet to make one layer, and doing the same with anchovies and capers. I left out the piquillo peppers, and would next time leave out the tapenade from a jar which produced a ghastly purple middle layer. The top pesto layer was lovely but that also came from a jar, so my shortcut creation did not whisper "Provence" to me and send chills down my spine. The zucchini was fresh, however, and the day after, when it was quite hot and muggy, a cold wedge of the crespéou seemed the right thing for lunch (alongside a drumstick from one of those rotisserie chickens). (But still, all in all, a healthy meal. Even with the 18 eggs in the original recipe, this dish only has 274 calories per serving--and a little over 2 eggs per serving).

I would make this again, keeping the spinach, mushrooms, and zucchini, and adding potatoes and onion to make it more like a very light, free-form Spanish tortilla.