I honestly didn't know there was a food called a "quiche" until I was ten or eleven, and didn't even know how to spell "keish" until much later than that, like past high school later.

I learned about quiche when my sister and I spent some time at my Aunt M and Uncle B's. My aunt cooked dinner every night, one night making broccoli when the Power Puff Girls' episode with the Evil Broccoli was playing (I still didn't eat that disgusting food). One night she got my cousin and I in there to help, making my first quiche. It had scrambled eggs in it, I know that; I forget what all else we put in there.

We spent an hour or so making it, letting it sit over night. The build was much longer than my affection for the quiche.

I was so excited to eat this piece of new food. I cut a piece of the quiche, put it on a plate, and took a bite. I did eat half of the piece, but I ended up not liking it very much. The texture freaked me out, and the crust - always my favorite part of everything - tasted weird. We had it several times during that visit, and on future visits, but the taste didn't develop much past that. I do not attribute it to my aunt's cooking, because she's made some killer lasagna and other food that is the best I've tasted, but to my under developed taste buds and texture preferences.

... Now that I have completely wasted your time with this entry, because this is the ONLY Q THING I COULD THINK OF THAT I COULD WRITE ABOUT, I shall prance away into the night.


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