Caprese Frittata

Mother's Day. Third one on the blog. I called Betty at seven. She answered on the first ring. She said "You're third again." I said "I know." She laughed. The laugh was thinner than it used to be — less body, less resonance, like a bell that's been rung too many times and is losing its tone. I told her happy Mother's Day. She said she'd already been to church and had ham and eggs for breakfast and was reading her Bible on the porch. Seventy-eight years old, dressed and fed and praying before most people have found their slippers. That's Betty. That's the woman who made me.

For Connie, I made brunch. Shrimp and grits (our thing), fresh orange juice (squeezed, not carton), biscuits (ninety-eight percent), and bacon. I set the kitchen table with the placemats and the candles and Connie came downstairs in her bathrobe and said "You did this?" and I said "Every year" and she said "That's only the third year" and I said "I'm establishing a pattern." She sat down and ate and drank coffee and looked at me across the table with an expression that was half gratitude and half assessment, like a general reviewing the troops and finding them adequate. Adequate from Connie is everything.

Clay gave Connie a necklace. A real necklace, not expensive, but real — a small silver chain with a charm shaped like Kentucky. He'd bought it himself, with money from his lawn-mowing job. He said "So you can keep Kentucky with you." He meant: when I'm gone. When I'm in Georgia and then wherever they send me, you can hold Kentucky in your hand and remember that your son is a Kentucky boy and he'll come back to Kentucky. Connie put it on and touched the charm and said "Thank you, baby" and Clay said "You're welcome, Mom" and they hugged, really hugged, the kind of hug that Hensleys usually avoid because it requires full-body vulnerability and that's not in the standard operating procedure. But Mother's Day in the year your son goes to war is an exception to all procedures.

Amber sent flowers, same as every year. Travis came by with a plant that was already dying, same as every year. The plant will die on the porch, same as every year. "Travis tried," Connie will say, same as every year. Some things are traditions not because they're good but because they're constant, and constancy is its own kind of love.

The shrimp and grits are our thing — that’s non-negotiable — but every year I try to add one more dish to the table, something that says I put in the time. This Caprese Frittata has become that dish. Fresh tomatoes, good mozzarella, basil from the pot on the porch that Travis’s plant will eventually join in the afterlife. It sits next to the grits and the biscuits and it makes the whole table look like somebody planned it, which I did, because I’m establishing a pattern and patterns require effort.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

8 large eggs
1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 ounces fresh mozzarella, torn into small pieces
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
1 tablespoon balsamic glaze, for drizzling

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 375°F and position a rack in the upper third.
Whisk the eggs. In a large bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, salt, and pepper until just combined. Don’t overbeat — you want them smooth, not frothy.
Cook the tomatoes. Heat olive oil and butter in a 10-inch oven-safe skillet over medium heat. Add the cherry tomatoes and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until they start to soften and release their juice. Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds more.
Add the eggs. Pour the egg mixture into the skillet. Gently stir once or twice to distribute the tomatoes evenly. Let it cook undisturbed on the stovetop for 3 to 4 minutes, until the edges begin to set.
Add the mozzarella. Scatter the torn mozzarella pieces across the top of the frittata.
Bake. Transfer the skillet to the oven and bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the eggs are set in the center and the cheese is melted and lightly golden.
Finish and serve. Remove from the oven and let it rest for 2 to 3 minutes. Top with torn basil and a drizzle of balsamic glaze. Slice into wedges and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Caprese Frittata — Because Mother’s Day Brunch Deserves a Pattern