Frittatas really are a magical beast. Leftover pasta? Throw it in there. Roasted veggies? Why the hell not. 7 cheeses slowly rotting in your fridge? Lay it on me, sister. These statements may not inspire you to ever eat one of my frittatas, but I hope they have the potential to send you eagerly to your fridge to find your next combination of random foodstuffs.
I’m really struggling to write this post. Not because the food was uninspiring, or I’m in a drunken stupor, or any legitimate reason. It’s all because I saw the Hunger Games this week and that horribly catchy (and quite disturbing) “Hanging Tree” song is running a repeat marathon on a loop in my brain. Please, someone have pity on me and play a T-Swift song to knock me off this track. I will pay you in pasta to do me this one small favor.
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I disagree with hipster folk on most things. Their garb (the ironic floral patterns that look like Aunt Mildred’s couch); their stupid obsession with musicians that have names like “Furry Fire Ants” or “Gassy Lampshade”; all that damn plaid. But one thing I can share an enthusiastic fist bump with them over is artisanal, fancy as hell foods that were originally designed to be simple and straightforward. Hipsters have taken them all to a ridiculous level of detail and made them wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am delicious. Linguica corn dogs, julienned beef cheek, pickled brussel sprouts doused in a locally produced IPA, etc etc. They’re crazy, but I’ll take it. With a side of duck fat potatoes.