You say 'frittata,' I say 'let's eat'
The large, round, deep skillet was filled to the brim with meat, vegetables, cheese and eggs. I had watched Aunt Lil slice tomatoes, peppers and onions from the backyard garden she and Uncle Paul cared for as if it were their baby. I winced when she almost nicked her knuckle as she grated a big chunk of cheese. With a time-worn knife, she cut up some ham. All these fresh ingredients were cooking gently, immersed in a mixture of whisked eggs and cream: Uncle Paul was creating a frittata.
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