Home again

Eastside Road, November 27, 2017—

HOME AGAIN, after twenty-four hours' travel, the dining during which needs no attention. Home, and in no mood to cook. And not particularly hungry, for that matter.

A shopping trip to our supermarket in Healdsburg suggested the solutions: let's finally try a pizza from their oven. I asked for a Margherita, of course, and in ten minutes it was out of the oven in its cardboard box — never a good idea, but what else can they do? — and quickly home.

There we slipped it onto a proper pan and reheated it in the oven. (The house, vacant these last four weeks, was a little cold, and profited from the heating.) You know: I have to say: it wasn't bad. Thin, crisp crust, decent mozzarella, good tomatoes, no overload of basil. I'll do it again.

I'd also bought eggs and butter at Big John's, and picked up a loaf of Como bread at our favorite bakery, so dinner was a cinch: omelet and toast. As I've mentioned here before, I cook omelets in olive oil, in an iron pan used for nothing else (and kept in a paper bag when not in use). I break two eggs (three for me!) into a bowl, rinse my hands, and let a few drops of water fall into the eggs, which I then whisk with a fork. Into the hot oil, lift the edges to let egg run under, shake to loosen from pan.

Grated parmesan carefully strewn down the middle of the unturned omelet; then fold over twice and flip to brown a bit more. Salt and pepper. Serve — with buttered toast. Very pleasing.

     🍷No wine goes well with eggs, but we'd had a bottle of Petite Syrah, Preston of Dry Creek, as an aperitif, with the neighbors down the hill…

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