Thursday June 5
This is, I suppose, quiche, and back in the 80s there was a book, Real Men Don't Eat Quiche. Well, they're all dead now from heart attacks, and this recipe contradicts that, but bears out a different bit of folk wisdom: that the only scent guaranteed to drive men mad is bacon.
Holt decided to use a cornmeal crust, for additional crunchiness. He found a good one here, tasty but a little friable (not fryable).
The only changes were that we used Crisco for lube instead of Pam, and the Silpat that Becky gave us (measured out conveniently in inches) instead of parchment paper. And we blind-baked the crust a bit, to give it a good start.
The filling began with frying a quarter pound of chopped bacon, its mesmerizing scent pervading the house. Then 4 or 5 sliced onions went into the pan with the bacon fat; it was pretty lean bacon, so a couple of teaspoons of butter went in too. Covered the pan to help the the onions get limp, then the pan was set aside to cool, and a custard of 2 eggs, a half cup milk, and a TBSP of flour (it's just thickening) got whipped up, with a dash of nutmeg, pepper, and salt, then the bacon, onions, and a cup or so of grated cheese (gruyère is typical, but we used Italian fontina). As soon as the tart crust was a bit brown, in went the custard.
The pie baked at 400º for almost an hour, until it was set in the center. We let it cool for 15 minutes, which could have been longer but we were so ravenous we couldn't wait. Holt baked it, Barbara was driven mad by the smell of it baking, and we both ate it. Thus are myths busted.
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