One day not so long ago, when H & I were still getting to know each other, many of our activities together were spent in the kitchen. On saturday mornings, I would be working my ass off in gym while H sipped his cuppa coffee at Coffee Beans or Starbucks, waiting for me. We would then do groceries and rent movies before walking back to his fancy smanchy place to cook our lunch. It was H who taught me how to mince my onions, how to hold my knife when peeling carrot, how to make a decent vinaigrette, how to make simple 3-course meal.
Oh I've cooked before, but my first fancy meal cooking together with him was ricotta-stuffed roast tomatoes. I didn't mince the garlic fine enough that you can taste it when biting through the ricotta. I singled out the garlic and did not eat it, but finished it, H did. I knew it then and there, this boy is a keeper. We weren't holding hands yet even then.
So when I finally took over our kitchen, one of the first recipe he passed down to me was quiche. Tarte poireaux to be exact, Leek Quiche. He googled it from internet and showed me exactly how to do it. And today, I'm going to release it back into the big blue sea, the world wide web.
Don't be scared, making quiche is easy. There's plenty of room to cover your own mistakes and I love making quiche on the days I'm cleaning my own fridge. I dump things on it the way Papa Ron makes his meat lovers.
- 250 gr farine T55 (250 gr all purp. flour)
- 125 gr de beurre (125 gr butter)
- 1 jaune d'oeuf (1 egg yolk)
- 6 cl d'eau froid (60 ml cold water)
- 1 grosse pincée de sel (1 big pinch of salt)
After you mix everything by your good hand, shape into a ball, put it back into the bowl you use, cover the bowl with cling wrap and put it into fridge for at least 30 mins. Voila! Step 1 is finished.
A personal note:
The well-known secret to a good pâte brisée is butter. You make sure the ratio of flour : butter is 2 : 1. For every 200 gr of flour, please dump 100 gr of butter. I try every so often to be stingy (I don't want H to have heart attack). But trust me, everybody can tell when you're stingy.
To this day, my mom is still shocked (perhaps with a tinge of sadness?) by my familiarity with the kitchen. Because unlike other little girls, I didn't learn cooking from my mother.
I learn it from my future husband.