Basque cooking is pretty much synonymous with peppers. If you’re in a restaurant in France, and a dish is described on the menu as “à la basquaise,” it will probably be covered in bell peppers. (Seeing as I am not exactly a bell pepper lover, this can be disappointing.) Piperade is the name for a mixture of sautéed peppers and onions, usually seasoned with piment d’espelette and often involving eggs and/or ham. Sounds like a pretty great breakfast to me, especially if I can swap out the bell peppers for my much-loved piquillos.
Faced with yet another bunch of white asparagus from the CSA panier, I remembered a post by Mark Bittman in which he finally finds a way to enjoy the overpriced, underwhelming vegetable. It involved peeling and cooking the hell out of them and then smothering them in a “broken hollandaise” of sorts. I thought that some creamy, slow-cooked scrambled eggs would fit the bill, and the piperade would be the icing on the cake, so to speak.
I mean, we all know how great asparagus and eggs are together, right? Now, if you’ll allow me, I have a short diatribe about scrambled eggs. Don’t even think about cooking them all the way through. Scrambled eggs should be smooth and creamy as well as fluffy. They should never be dry. Those cottony diner scrambled eggs with the browned bits and phony lard flavoring (or maybe it’s just rancid) turn my stomach. The absolute best only way to cook scrambled eggs is VERY SLOWLY. Over low heat. In butter or olive oil. Stirring constantly. I mean it. These are not a weekday morning project, that’s what fried eggs are for. Oh, it’s going to take patience. And time. A whole lot of precious time.
Well, 25 minutes or so, anyway. But it is time very well spent. (And, as luck would have it, about the same amount of time it takes to steam white asparagus into submission.)
Topped with a mound of soft-set piperade scrambled eggs, the white asparagus were indeed tolerable. Good, even. Although I can’t help but to think how much better it would be with green asparagus. Or a few slices of cured ham, like a regionally appropriate jambon de Bayonne. But then, what isn’t?
Originally published on Croque-Camille.