There’s a dog hair in the quiche.
How the heck did it get in there? I’m halfway through my wedge, and I have no intention of stopping. But this crinkly, black, obviously Labrador hair has given me pause.
It wasn’t in the crust. It’s above the caramelized onion, but below the fennel. That means that it got in there while I was shredding the cheddar. Or maybe reducing the balsamic… Either way, that’s only a like a five minute window.
Did it get kicked up when the AC turned on? Did I have any helping hands with that part of the layering? I have no idea. That was ages ago. To the sleep deprived parent of a needy fourteen month old, that forty five minute bake time is enough for even the most traumatic of layerings to move from short term memory to the wastebasket of forgotten hissy fits.
As I ponder where this darn hair had come from, I absentmindedly feed the little one on my lap. As she chews on bits of her dinner, I try to grab a bite of my own. It was only as that hair laden bite is about to violate my mouth, that remember not to eat it.
So I set that bite to the side, and take another. I’ve got kids and dogs all over the place, but in that moment, I have clarity.
A buttery crunch of crust. A moist mouthful of egg, cheese, and savor. A bright pop of syrupy black delight. Then, the feedback makes it worthwhile.
A tiny voice calls from the far end of the table, “Daddy, this is almost as good as Mac and cheese.”
Welcome to Seasoned With Chaos. These are the chronicles about our love of wholesome food, raising a family, and the beautiful chaos that occurs when those two things collide.