By Mother's Day. Calvin put yellow tulips on the kitchen table—yellow, which was always Marcus's color, the one he said was the color of happy, the one he'd pick when he and CJ and Destiny used to stop at the Piggly Wiggly the Saturday before Mother's Day and argue about which flowers to get. He never told his father this. Calvin just knew. Twenty-two years of marriage and the man still surprises me with what he carries quietly.
CJ called from Huntsville early, before eight. He said, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama," and his voice cracked once in the middle and then he steadied himself the way Simms men steady themselves—by going still, by holding the breath, by refusing to let the thing come all the way through—and we talked for twenty minutes about nothing: his apartment, the weather in Huntsville, whether he was eating well. He volunteered that he was eating well, which meant he wasn't, which meant he'd been to Popeyes three times this week, which is the Simms family stress response for men. Chicken, eaten in a car alone. Lord.
Destiny came over. She cooked breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice from a carton—and brought it to the table on the good plates, the ones we use for company, which I found touching and a little heartbreaking because we are not company in this house, we are what's left of the family. The eggs were a little watery. The toast was two shades past golden. She put the plate in front of me and stood there with her hands clasped, waiting to see if I'd eat it, like I was the child and she was the mother, and I looked at my twenty-year-old daughter who has her father's eyes and her grandmother's posture and her dead brother's stubbornness, and I picked up the fork and ate every bite.
It was the best breakfast I'd eaten in nine weeks. Not because of the eggs. Because Destiny made it. Because she drove over here and stood at my cold stove and figured out how to do a thing her mama has always done for her, and the love in it was bigger than the food, bigger than the watery eggs and the burned toast, big enough to fill the empty chair at the table where Marcus should have been sitting, teasing his sister about the eggs, saying "D, you burned the toast again," and both of them laughing. We didn't laugh. But we sat together at the table and we ate and the kitchen was warm from Destiny's cooking and that was enough. It had to be enough.
When I think about what Destiny made that morning—the watery eggs, the too-dark toast, the good plates she pulled out like we were company—I don’t think about technique. I think about intention. But in the weeks since, I’ve been making her this Spanish Potato Omelette, also called a tortilla, because it’s the kind of egg dish that teaches you something: it’s forgiving, it’s filling, and it gets better every time you make it. I want her to have this one in her hands. Something she can stand at a cold stove and cook for someone she loves, and know it’ll come out right.
Spanish Potato Omelette (Spanish Tortilla)
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 6 large eggs
- 1 lb (about 3 medium) Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced into 1/8-inch rounds
- 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
- 1/2 cup olive oil, plus more as needed
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika (optional)
- Fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Fry the potatoes and onion. Heat 1/2 cup olive oil in a 10-inch nonstick or cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add the sliced potatoes and onion in layers, seasoning with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cook, gently turning occasionally, for 18—20 minutes until the potatoes are tender but not crispy. You’re softening them, not frying them golden.
- Beat the eggs. While the potatoes cook, crack the eggs into a large bowl. Add the remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt, black pepper, and paprika if using. Whisk well until fully combined and slightly frothy.
- Combine. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the cooked potatoes and onions into the egg mixture, pressing them gently to submerge. Discard most of the oil from the skillet, leaving just a thin coating. Let the potato-egg mixture rest for 5 minutes so the eggs begin to absorb into the potatoes.
- Cook the first side. Return the skillet to medium-low heat. Pour in the potato-egg mixture and spread it evenly. Cook undisturbed for 6—8 minutes, until the edges are set and the center is just slightly wobbly when you shake the pan gently.
- Flip the tortilla. Place a large flat plate or lid over the skillet. In one confident motion, invert the skillet so the tortilla lands cooked-side up on the plate. Slide it back into the skillet raw-side down. Cook another 3—4 minutes until fully set through.
- Rest and serve. Slide the finished tortilla onto a cutting board or serving plate. Let it rest for 5 minutes before slicing into wedges. Garnish with parsley if desired. Serve warm, at room temperature, or even cold—it’s good every way.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 420mg