The Top Chef finale is this Wednesday. Um, I think. There's been so many finalists that, as a good friend recently said, "there are more almost-endings then Lord of the Rings." Whatever happens, I'm rooting for Antonia. She makes the food I want to eat. Second runner up: Mike. I'm sorry Richard, I don't like freaky chemicals in my food, and besides that you are super annoying this season. Too much angst. Who cares who wins, unless of course, you are playing the game yourself. That brings me to tips on how to hold your own Top Chef Quickfire.
I ate tortilla for breakfast everyday in Spain. Every day. I was in Madrid, mostly, where I would walk to the local breakfast counter in Puerta del Sol. The first time I ordered tortilla, I expected the Mexican version: a light corn shell filled with eggs or beans. What a lovely surprise: a thick frittata of sorts, filled with potatoes and eggs, so delicious that I forgot about the fact that, most days, I ate standing up, leaning on a counter (when in Rome, eh, Madrid, do as the Madrileño do).
I was in Spain for two weeks. Then I came home and forgot about Spanish tortilla. Out of sight, out of mind. That was seven years ago. No tortilla for me, for seven years. (Ok, maybe I've eaten one or two around town at Jaleo or Taberna Alabadero, but that's not the point. The point is I forgot about the dish).
Then I went to Estadio for tapas. With each bite of Estadio's tortilla I remembered the creaminess of the eggs and potatoes; how, in Spain, a slice of tortilla filled me up until lunch, and how the egg and potato combination is a perfect match for hot sauce and bitter greens. With pitter patter from a Chorus Line in the background, I thought: I can make that.