Making quiche on a weeknight is always a bit ambitious. You’ve got to make the crust and the filling, and then it has to bake for a good 45 minutes. It’s one of those meals that I need to start at 4.30 pm in order to have dinner on the table by 6.
Often, if I make quiche on a weeknight, dinner is late. This was the case one day last year. I had my heart set on quiche, but got home late. Made quiche anyway, in a mad whirlwind of activity. Finally got it into the oven and cleaned the kitchen. I was feeling good about my effort—dinner would only be 20 minutes later than usual. No problem.
When the quiche was done, I opened the oven and slid out the rack…and the quiche kept coming. It flew out of the oven as though it had been hurled, frisbee-style by some unseen hand. It soared off the rack and onto the floor, where the whole thing, including the pie plate, split in two. Bits of egg and vegetables flew everywhere, and I stared in stunned disbelief. An hour and a half of preparation lay splattered across the kitchen floor. At almost 6.30 pm, I wasn’t going to be making another dinner. What were we going to eat?
Thankfully, Ian sprang into action, heating up a jar of homemade soup from the cupboard. By the time I had the quiche cleaned off the floor, the soup was on the table.
I am now very careful whenever I pull a quiche from the oven…