Vegetable Frittata

The cookbook has a cover. Katherine sent a proof: "From Brenda's Kitchen: Soul Food for the Long Haul" by Tamika Washington. The cover is simple — a photograph of a cast iron skillet on a wooden table, with the Folgers can in the background, slightly out of focus but unmistakably present. The photograph was taken by Derek (he volunteered; the man who can't cook can apparently photograph a kitchen with the eye of an artist). The cover is beautiful. The cover is Mama's kitchen distilled into one image: iron and wood and spice and the soft blur of something precious in the background.

I held the cover proof at the kitchen table and I didn't cry. I held it and I looked at it and I thought: this is real. This is happening. Mama's recipes are going to be in bookstores. The stories I've been carrying — the Folgers can, the step stool, the Easter ham, the cornbread with no sugar — they're going to be held by strangers in kitchens I'll never see. The line is going to extend beyond me, beyond the church kitchen, beyond Atlanta, into the hands of people who will open this book and cook these recipes and think of a woman they never met. Brenda Jackson will exist in kitchens she never visited. That is the immortality of a cookbook. That is the immortality of a woman who said, "Season by feel."

Showed the cover to Curtis. He looked at it for a long time. Then he said, "That's a good picture of the skillet." He said NOTHING about the book or Mama or the cover or the fact that his wife's recipes are being published. He said, "That's a good picture of the skillet." And then he put the cover proof on his lap and he held it there for the rest of dinner and he didn't let go. Curtis Jackson doesn't talk about his feelings. He holds them. In his lap. At the dinner table. And the holding is the feeling.

The night Katherine’s proof arrived — that photograph of the cast iron skillet centered on a wooden table — I couldn’t bring myself to cook anything complicated. I needed something that honored the skillet itself, something Mama would have made without measuring, something that felt like iron and heat and whatever was in the refrigerator. This vegetable frittata was exactly that: a skillet meal that doesn’t ask much of you but gives everything back, the kind of recipe that belongs in any book about cooking for the long haul.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 large eggs
1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 cup baby spinach, loosely packed
1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar or Gruyère cheese
Fresh parsley or chives, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 375°F (190°C). If you have a cast iron skillet, this is its moment.
Whisk the eggs. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, salt, pepper, and smoked paprika until fully combined and slightly frothy. Set aside.
Sauté the vegetables. Heat olive oil in a 10-inch oven-safe skillet (cast iron preferred) over medium heat. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5–6 minutes. Add the spinach and cherry tomatoes and cook for 1 more minute until the spinach wilts.
Add the eggs. Pour the egg mixture evenly over the vegetables. Tilt the pan gently to distribute. Sprinkle the shredded cheese across the top. Cook on the stovetop, undisturbed, for 2–3 minutes until the edges just begin to set.
Finish in the oven. Transfer the skillet to the preheated oven and bake for 12–15 minutes, until the center is set and the top is lightly golden. A toothpick inserted in the center should come out clean.
Rest and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest 3–5 minutes before slicing into wedges. Garnish with fresh parsley or chives and serve directly from the skillet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vegetable Frittata — Cast Iron on a Wooden Table