Growing up is a funny thing. As the years go by my body gets older. My face has matured. My laugh lines have deepened. My eyes are starting to smile with tiny wrinkles. Now, I realize I am by no means old. Just older. Older than I ever remember being or feeling. And even though I know physically I am getting older, I have never once FELT older. Until today. I knew one day there would be a mile stone that made me think, ok, now I am really an adult. I thought it would be getting married, buying a house or having a child. Nope. I was wrong. Being an adult means your parents are coming to stay the night in your apartment.
Last weekend my mother called me. Thank goodness she has gotten much better about leaving vague messages that freak me out. She started asking me strange questions like "how often do you spend weekends in LA?" And, "does Lish stay in LA on the weekends." I was starting to think she was going to tell me I don't spend enough time in my apartment and move home. I finally had to interject and ask what the 3rd degree was about. Then she dropped the bomb. "Can your Dad and I stay at your apartment Saturday night?" I'd have to ask the people I was with, but I'm, pretty sure my jaw dropped.
I instantly went through an intense stream of emotion. I was flattered. Flattered that my parents like my place enough that they would feel comfortable staying here. I was scared. Scared They wouldn't enjoy their say. And I was panicked. Panicked because while my living room, kitchen and loft are usually pretty clean, my room is an absolute disaster zone.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor I collected myself and cheerfully agreed. And then I got greedy. I proclaimed that we should make a double date of it and go to dinner or something thinking I could get a really nice meal out of this whole situation. Score! However, she wasn't biting. "Well, I don't know, we might be tired from being at the pool all day." And "We won't even be back your place till late." Now, here is where the conversation took a dangerous turn. I volunteered to cook. Crap. Now on top of the fact that I have to clean my health hazard of a room, I am cooking a meal. And it's the day of at 11:22 and all I've done so far is put my sheets in the washing machine and make Eric and myself a frittata.
Wish me luck. I'm probably going to need it.
Love and Beer Floats
Angela
**Yes, that is my actual room. Why I got brave enough to put that picture up I'm not sure. Stay tuned for the soon to be clean version.
Easy Like Sunday Morning Frittata
1 tomato diced
1 clove garlic
4 ounces spinach
4 strips bacon chopped
1/2 chopped onion
6 eggs
1/4 cup cottage cheese
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
1 tablespoon sugar
Start by cooking up the bacon. I like to cook mine in the oven so it is guaranteed crispy. While the bacon is crisping, warm 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a pan. When the oil is hot, add the onions, salt, pepper and sugar. Cook them on medium heat for about 20 minutes st iring occasionally until the onions are little brown and sweet. Add the spinach, garlic, and tomatoes to the pan and the remaining olive oil and cook until the spinach has shriveled up. Remove from heat while you whisk the 6 eggs and cottage cheese together with a little salt and pepper. Add the mixture from the pan to the eggs as well as the crisp bacon. Whisk together and put in a round cake pan. Cook in the oven at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes. You will know it is done when nothing giggles when you shake the pan.
Serves 4. Enjoy!
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