Leftover cornbread seasoned with a bit of chile powder and cumin and pan fried until crispy, farm fresh eggs, roasted green chilies, and sharp cheddar cheese. More of a suggestion than a recipe: an answer to what to do with leftover cornbread. And no matter how delicious an entire pan of cornbread is just too much for three people to eat in one sitting. But sort of like leftover mashed potatoes there are so many possibilities- so many delicious possibilities- that I’m a little sad when nothing is left but crumbs.
This is a what’s in the fridge sort of breakfast. And why I keep these sorts of things in the fridge sort of breakfast. And why I love my cast iron skillets.
1 ½ cups Cornbread- leftover and chopped into bite size pieces
½ tsp chile powder
½ tsp cumin powder
butter or oil for frying
2 eggs
1-3 TBS diced roasted green chilies
¼ cup grated cheddar or mozzarella cheese
Toss the cornbread with seasonings and then fry over medium heat until crispy. Lower the heat and push the cornbread to the side (or remove from the pan) and add the eggs and green chilies. After whites have begun to set add the grated cheese. Flip the eggs once and pile everything in a bowl. Garnish with cilantro or parsley. Homemade hot sauce too!
- 1 ½ cups Cornbread- leftover and chopped into bite size pieces
- ½ tsp chile powder
- ½ tsp cumin powder
- butter or oil for frying
- 2 eggs
- 1-3 TBS diced roasted green chilies
- ¼ cup grated cheddar or mozzarella cheese
- Toss the cornbread with seasonings and then fry over medium heat until crispy. Lower the heat and push the cornbread to the side (or remove from the pan) and add the eggs and green chilies. After whites have begun to set add the grated cheese. Flip the eggs once and pile everything in a bowl. Garnish with cilantro or parsley. Homemade hot sauce too!
And because this is another sort of recipe I offer you another poem.
A return to seasons
Summer. Feet bare, tough enough
to cross hot pavement
without a wince. I was seven
and my dog was my best friend.
We climbed
into the hills and he ate
the rest of my supper
and I ate all of my dessert.
I remember that summer,
standing in front of the lilac bush
eyes squinted in the sun.
My mother posing me while the water
of the creek ran cold
just beyond the high grass
at the edge of our patchy lawn.
I returned in winter
trees bare, sky gray
with snow and memories frozen
in each rut of the driveway,
the lilac bush now gone.
I remember each leaf on those trees
and every star I counted
swinging on my swing
hands wrapped around the metal links
sweating in the summer
stinging with the frost.
That house is no longer ours,
furniture unfamiliar,
the old red mailbox gone.
I smell the leaves rotting
in wind made piles
and unthaw memory
in the slow moving swirls
of the creek
at the edge of a still patchy lawn.
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