A few weeks ago I decided I wanted to do a quiche Lorraine for the diner (Monday, I make savory pies for them to sell during the week), except I wasn’t sure what, exactly, a quiche Lorraine was. It sounded classy to me — very French and very basic — so I did a little digging around for The Formula.
Turns out, there is none. Best I can tell “Quiche Lorraine” is just a fancy name for any old kind of quiche: meat, veggie, cheese, whatever.
So I consulted with a few good food writers on their versions, picked one that sounded classy, and then slapped it on the diner menu and called it Quiche Lorraine.
And now I make a mean, very basic, very French, and very, very delicious quiche Lorraine. It’s superbly creamy, like a custard almost, and full of all the best things: leeks, Gruyere, bacon, and fresh thyme.
It smells like heaven while it’s baking, and I always think to myself, “Of all the things in the bakery, this is what I want to eat the most.”
Layering in all the ingredients sounds nitpicky, but it keeps the fillings from sinking to the bottom, so do it.
Also, if you eat this quiche too warm, it’ll be so incredibly creamy soft that you may be fooled into thinking it’s underbaked. It’s not. Just let it set up a bit and try again.
1 9-inch disk all-butter pie pastry 8-10 pieces of bacon 1 tablespoon olive oil, butter, or bacon fat ½ cup chopped leeks (just the lower half) ½ cup chopped onion ⅛ teaspoon red pepper flakes ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper ¼ teaspoon salt 6 ounces Gruyere 1 teaspoon fresh thyme (or ¼ teaspoon dried) 3 eggs 2 egg yolks 1 cup heavy cream ¾ cup milk
Parbake the crust: Line a 9-inch pie plate with the pie dough. Press a piece of parchment into the plate and fill it to the brim with dried beans or pie weights. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or until the crust is beginning to brown around the edges. Remove the parchment and beans and bake another 5 minutes, or until it’s dry on the bottom and beginning to brown. Check for holes and tears: if any, patch them with a little extra pie dough thinned with water. Brush the edge of the crust with egg wash (1 egg yolk beaten together with a pinch of salt and splash of cream) and set aside.
Prepare the ingredients: Chop the bacon and fry until crispy and brown and then set aside on a paper towel to drain. Saute the leeks and onion in the bacon grease, along with the salt, black pepper, and red pepper, until soft. Grate the Gruyere into a bowl and set aside. In a small bowl, beat together the eggs with the cream and milk.
Assemble the quiche: Scatter ⅔ of the onion mixture over the bottom of the pie, followed by ⅓ of the bacon pieces and ⅔ of the cheese. Sprinkle the fresh thyme over the cheese and then gently pour the egg custard into the pan. Artfully arrange the remaining onion mixture, followed by the remaining bacon and then the cheese.
Bake the quiche at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes, or until puffed, golden brown, and the center is set.
Cool the quiche almost to room temperature before cutting and serving.
For months now, my younger son has been begging for a dog. That’s all I want for my birthday, he said, and then to drive his point home, he left notes all over the house.
At first, I’d pooh-poohed him. There’s no way, I said. We don’t need more dogs. We already have two.
But then I started thinking. We had allowed each of the girls to get their own dog once they were able to financially support a pet (and while Francie was our family dog, she was my older son’s charge, more or less), and as the youngest child in a rapidly-emptying house — and semi-socially isolated, thanks to Covid — he, of all the kids, was perhaps the one most in need of a pet. Plus, he’s the one who actually plays with the dogs, racing around the yard with Coco, and then climbing trees when her back is turned for hide-and-seek (and seek — and find — she does!).
So I ran the idea by a couple friends. Am I crazy to consider another dog? I asked. Get it, they said.
And so I started shopping. Daily, I checked the classifieds and Craigslist. I put in an application to the SPCA. I contacted dog-owning friends. I messaged people who knew people who had dogs. But no luck.
For his birthday, we ended up just giving him a leash and some money — and the permission — to get a dog. It was a bummer, having the birthday without the gift, but he handled it well, and, birthday over, the search continued. His preferences were clear: a lab mix, female, and a puppy. But still, there was nothing. With each passing day, I grew more and more frustrated. Where were all the dogs?
And then I found an ad on craigslist for a chocolate lab mix. Problem was, it was six months old, and a he, but I contacted the owners anyway, just to see. They sent photos and explained that there’d been some changes in the family and a doubling up of jobs — they just couldn’t keep up with a puppy.
My son was interested, but hesitant. Look, I said. It’s a gorgeous dog. It’s sad to miss the first cuddly months, but they’d fly by anyway, and six-months old is still very much a puppy. Plus, he’s free and he’s fixed and he’s a lab.
Can I meet him first and then decide? He asked.
So Saturday afternoon in the middle of an ice storm, we hopped in the van and set off to see the puppy. Once he met him, of course he said yes.
My son considered keeping the pup’s original name but, after a number of prolonged discussions, he finally came up with one he liked: Danny Boy, from a book I recently read to him for the second time (and no, Schitt’s Creek fans, this has nothing to do with funerals and Moira).
Gangly and big — he’s bigger than Coco already — Danny Boy is still very much a pup. He doesn’t know his strength, plus he’s clumsy, so he occasionally crashes into walls and people. He tries to climb into our laps. He bounces and falls over, and he gets distracted while eating. He’s eager and rammy and enormously energetic and super people-friendly.
And because he’s a lab, he’s awfully much like Francie: the same gentle, intelligent eyes, the same heavy tail thump-thump-thump, the same wiggly eyebrows. He even sleeps in the same spot where Francie slept: curled up on the mat right outside the door.
I snapped a picture and sent it to the older kids. Does this remind you of anybody? I asked. FRANCIE, they both wrote back immediately.
Already he’s quite attached to my son. He slept on my younger son’s bed the first couple nights, but now he sleeps in the crate at the foot of the bed. (Once it’s warmer, he’ll join the other dogs in the kennel.)
We’ve never gotten an older dog before, so it’s a bit of a learning curve. Danny Boy’s old enough that he’s got some habits that require retraining — barking to be let in, drinking from the toilet, jumping — but young enough that I don’t think it will be too terribly difficult to fix.
Complicating matters is the weather: it’s so icy and cold that it makes it hard to exercise the dogs. Plus, Danny Boy doesn’t know limits, or how to play with other dogs, and his persistent wrestling matches with Coco often threaten to devolve into a flat-out fight.
And then the kids bellow at the dogs to behave and I yell at the kids to mind the dogs and, well, it’s all a bit much.
But that’s okay, because once again we have a lab.
