Fatty fats

The quiches I made for McMumsy's 60th went over well, although little brother was (rightly) horrified by the amount of fatty fat in them. The custard consisted of a cup of heavy cream, a cup of whole milk, and two large eggs plus two egg yolks. I filled one with two leeks cooked in two tablespoons of butter, which you toss in the crust with four ounces of goat cheese. The other called for a half pound of bacony bacon plus a cup of Gruyere.

They were delicious.

Unfortunately I effed up the crusts the first time around. I tried to blind bake frozen premade crusts and ended up with a puddle of oily dough. Then I called McMumsy to bitch and she reminded me that as it was her birthday I was making the quiches for, perhaps it would be better to whine to someone else.

Point well taken. I walked off my frustation on my way to the grocery store where I picked up more crusts, and all was well.

In other news, Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul. Sometimes I wish I could clip its wings.

In other other news, that's never going to happen.