The moment I become a mom I felt like I had made it to the top, then I came back from the hospital with a hungry, screaming, pooping machine. I looked like shit, I smelled even worst and I was pretty convinced I would not make it through the night; I’m happy to report back, 10 years later, I am alive, showered and somewhat mentally stable.
Being a mother, so far, has been the best and most fulfilling job/career/racket/diversion/horror-comedy show I have been in charge of. I love my kids; I love nurturing them. I love having a family.
Unlike Ivanka T., mommy survival mode to me has nothing to do with not having enough time to meditate or treat myself to a massage, but rather it reflects the constant state of chaos I live in as a working mom, burning the candle at both ends just hoping to make it all work.
Let’s give a shout to all the bad-ass mothers who don’t have millions under their mattresses, or a butler to make sure their every need is met along with their children’s. The ones who are just trying to raise good (clean) humans and make it from one day to the next in one piece. And the ones hoping that the folks in Washington will finally have our backs.
Once we are done shouting, lets cook a nice brunch for mom. I suggest a frittata.
The frittata is to Italy as the omelet is to France and just as much an art form. Every Italian family has its own recipe and masterful way of turn it. My mom made a great soufflé-like frittata by adding stiffly beaten egg whites, and she turned it on a large lid over the sink without ever breaking it. When turning my version of her frittata, I prefer to use a large plate and turn it by firmly holding the pan and the plate together with two hands and then quickly inverting both. Once the frittata is turned, I gently place it back in the pan and cook for a couple minutes more.
When I want to impress and am seeking extra height on my frittata, I don’t invert it. I finish it in the oven instead. You can also use a special double frittata pan. (Once, on a long overnight trip to Paris to visit family, my father, tired of my brothers and me quarrelling, produced one of these and swiftly but not so gently hit us over our heads. We were quiet the whole remainder of the trip. The pan was a gift for my relatives, or so he told us.)
I call this frittata No-Fear Soufflé because the texture is light and fluffy, and it can rise pretty high after the egg whites are folded in. It makes a lovely present for Mother’s Day when presented in a cast-iron pan, sprinkled with edible flowers and accompanied by a green salad and a sizable hug. #RESIST