Episode 1: The Simple Quiche

Real men don't eat quiche, or so that liar Bruce Feirstein has been telling us since 1982.

I admit, I bought into his outdated ideas of masculinity most of my life. My father raised me to be proud, strong, sprts-savvy; a True 'Merican!

And so, I deprived myself of this simple delicacy: eggs, spinach, cheddar cheese, pre-made pie crust.

Even now, as I type this, I confess my mouth begins to water. And why shouldn't it?  This is 2017. A black president has come and gone. Sexual orientation is no longer a factor in marriage or in the military. In my home town of Las Vegas, Nevada, I can walk to a dispensary and buy an ounce of the finest weed man can grow. Everything we used to take as a matter of course has fallen into the sere.

I decided to throw up my hands and give into the absurd one autumn when I was teaching high school. I needed something filling, nutritious and eat-on-the-go friendly, because I had to be at school at an ungodly hour.

One quiche, cooked on Sunday, pre-sliced, and I was ready to go for the week. Granted, the taste quality degraded a little around Wednesday, but single men and teachers are willing to put almost anything in their mouths. I'm both.

So what was it like?

You want me to tell you?

Well, on Sunday, right when I cook it, I always cut myself a slice. I can't help myself. The cooking pie crust and baking cheese fill the house with this aroma that makes my stomach growl like a revving engine.

That first cut is great; the cheddar is gooey and clings to the knife. The metal cuts through that firmed up scrambled egg and this cloud of scented steam is just billowing up off the surface.

Once I cut it, I never grab a plate. It's hot--painful--but I'm a glutton. So I hold this hot little slice of egg pie in my hand, the only thing between my skin and the crust is a thing strip of paper towel, but perversely, that adds to the experience.

Each bite heats up the fork and it slides right off onto the tongue. The consistency is well-done scrambled egg, firm, not runny at all. The boldest flavor is that sharp cheddar on top of that slightly-sweet pie crust. But there's something rich and subtle under all the other flavors. It's that spinach. For a second, you thought it was just there for color, or maybe to make a grab at that "healthy" label (good luck, this isn't a healthy snack), but no. Gentle spinach, meek and mild, is doing unseen, thankless work in the background: rich and earthy and smooth.

Thank God for humble spinach.