Stories

I’m a middle-aged step-dad with a bad back. I’m unable to jog. But I have a better shot at qualifying for the one-hundred-yard dash in the next summer Olympics than I have at getting my thirteen-year-old to voluntarily eat a vegetable. Any vegetable. And the same can be said for fruit. “I hate them,” he insists, decrying, at one fell swoop, all means of natural nutrition. “Hate is a strong word, pal,” I tell him, trying to lend some perspective to this same conversation we repeat night in and night out. But if this isn’t hate, I think to myself, what is it? The smell of broccoli makes him nauseas. The sight of a mushroom incapacitates him with fear; one found its way on to his dinner plate a couple of weeks ago and he yelled out, panicked “Get it off of there!” as if it were some alien species about to attack him.

Complicating his life, not to mention mine, is his mother, who insists he eat, at the very least, one serving of a vegetable at dinner. After negotiations rivaling the Geneva Talks in intensity, we have agreed to let him eat the vegetable of his choosing – peas, peas, and occasionally some peas – at the very end of his meal, and on a separate plate – his vegetable plate. This is the only way he’ll consider, in his words, “giving it an honest attempt.”

When I have a party, I try to invite everyone. I really do. And if my best friend has another best friend, I invite the other best friend. I include the world. If I happen to run in to you (random person reading this) a week before said party, I will invite you even if we’re not the best of friends. I even like it when people crash my parties or when someone calls me and says boldly “Do you mind? I hear you’re having a party and I’d really like to go.” What I LOVE about that is that the person who makes that kind of call, does know me. They know, I’m so happy to include everyone.

I believe I got this from my mother who would say, “You have to invite the whole class, not just some.” Or my dad, who carried his entourage around with him, leaving no one out. Both my parents never let anyone’s feelings get hurt.

One day, in maybe the 5th or 6th grade, a girl named Debby had a party and it seemed like she invited just about everyone. Except me. And maybe the worst part was that she included my best friend Susie. It felt like a real slight. On that particular weekend of Debby’s party, I remember feeling very alone on Saturday night. Susie and I were pretty inseparable.

It came to me in a flash: sell the house. After my husband lost his second job in eight months and after my agent stopped returning my calls. It was the solution to all our problems. We hired a realtor – a young energetic woman called Jen – and made a plan. We would sell our three bedroom home and move to a loft in downtown Los Angeles. We would be downsizing, but it would be chic.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, selling the home that we had lived in for twenty-one years and raised our children. But really there was no alternative to our diminished earning capacity. Added to the embarrassment of having a ‘For Sale’ sign planted on our front lawn and explaining to all our inquisitive neighbors why and where we were moving. What I had failed to take into account was the effect that this momentous decision would have on our eating habits. What nobody tells you when you are trying to sell a house is that cooking in your home becomes virtually verboten.

In these tough economic times if you want to sell, you have to ‘Stage’. When you live in the film capital of the World, people want to buy houses that look like movie sets. This requires cramming every personal item you own into a closet and making your house look like nobody lives in it. But at the same time it has to look like Martha Stewart was your interior decorator.

What do you turn to when it seems like there's nothing to eat and the stack of leftovers in the fridge is way past its prime? I turn to eggs. It's a staple I always have in the fridge. It's great to have on hand for baking and of course for a fast healthy and nutritious breakfast. But eggs can also make a great meal in a pinch. The other day I had nothing to eat and all I could find were some vegetables I hadn't yet used and a carton of eggs. So supper became this simple frittata, an Italian-style omelette that's baked. Dinner doesn't need to be complicated when you have a frittata recipe in your back pocket.

With only a few easy steps, this egg-forward dish is very quick to put together. Some light sautéing is required, but beyond that it's just assemble and bake. Any vegetable at hand works well. I happened to have cremini mushrooms, zucchini, and cherry tomatoes. Fresh herbs are also very welcome in this dish. Parsley or basil work the best. And a frittata is not complete without a topping of cheese. A good melting cheese, like mozzarella, Swiss, or Parmesan adds an abundance of flavor. And for some ultimate decadence, add bits of crisped bacon or pancetta.