When do french people eat quiche




















Line an 8-inch tart pan with the dough, cover it with foil, fill the foil with dried beans or pie weights, and bake in the preheated oven for 10 minutes. Raise the oven temperature to degrees. Beat the eggs, add the heavy cream and cheese, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Push the bacon into the pre-baked crust, and pour in the egg mixture. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until set and slightly golden. In the past, people often enjoyed two hour lunch breaks, with more than one course and a glass of wine.

Featured above is a picture of a quiche. Quiches normally include eggs, cheeses, different types of vegetables, and occasionally potatoes, all of which are typically served with a small salad and bread.

Another typical dish for lunch is a croque madame , which is featured above. This dish includes a piece of bread topped with an egg, cheese, and ham. A croque monsieur is the same thing as a croque madame, minus the egg. Dinner is the longest meal for the French. When I studied abroad and lived with a host family, there were times when we stayed at the dinner table for three hours.

This was partly because we would eat 5 to 7 courses. Additionally, the French don't eat until or — so a dinner could easily last until at night. Additionally, bread is served throughout the meal. Remember: tart opinions and cheesy puns are welcome, but do not egg one another unnecessarily. As John Lennon once pleaded: give quiche a chance.

There must be crust. That crust, moreover, must provide both a sound structure for the filling and offer a gently resistant bite — which is why thin, buttery shortcrust is preferable to filo or puff. Theoretically, wholemeal should work with some richer or stronger flavours, but too often it dominates in a way that feels worthy. Processed, mass-market shop-bought quiches are invariably terrible. Overly thick pastry is a particular problem. Yes, quiche needs an edging of crust. But, fundamentally, that crust is a method of delivery, a discreet textural contrast.

It should not be an assertive flavour. Ergo, the individual quiche a pastry cage with a sad, shrunken pool of pleasure at its centre is a massive fail.

It is bad enough getting the corner slice of a rectangular quiche and having to suffer two sides of pastry, but to entirely encircle that filling in pastry is criminal. Quiche must be eaten at least residually warm. Straight-from-the-fridge, cold quiche is a sad, drab thing, the filling set and leaden, the pastry all waxy with congealed fat. You need to loosen that quiche up a little: light some candles, give it a metaphorical massage, warm it through in the oven.

When it emerges the filling now wobbly, bulging, almost running free; the hot pastry light, crisp and snapping , it is a different meal altogether. It must and perhaps this is why you so rarely eat a truly great one combine a certain luxurious density — you want to feel like you are eating something — with an airy, silky lightness.



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