Today, we explore the flavor spectrum of the quiche. Riveting, I know. But in the larger scheme of things, maybe it’s fitting. Quiche has a lot in common with today after all. July thirtieth comes but once a year, and few know the history of what it’s known for. It falls just between National Lip Stick Day and Harry Potter’s birthday, and in essence, it embodies a combination of the two, giving us a greater understanding of the quiche.

Because July thirtieth is boring. It can’t even be the birthday of one of the most disappointing protagonists in all of history. Yeah, looking at you, Harry. We know, you’re the chosen one—you tell us repeatedly, lounging in the common room eating chocolate frogs while Hermione does the research and saves the day. You’re the quiche of all wizards, the egg who lived. And you bore me.

Sorry, maybe I’m projecting my feelings about quiche onto Harry, but like trying to explain to a Chopped judge why you forgot an ingredient, it doesn’t matter. We all still think you’re incompetent trash.

However, we can learn from this as well. What made Harry Potter wonderful can also make your quiche a delight. No, no, young readers, I’m not talking about murdering gifted teenage sidekicks, chopping them to pleasantly uniform small bits, and adding them as a last-ditch effort to summon flavor into your quiche. That would be awful. We have too few teenagers worth saving, so we can’t go throwing them all into a pie crust. I’m saying look at the eggs as Harry and add so many other things to them that you finish knowing the eggs are still the focus of the dish but that they’re certainly the most disappointing part.

I was able to save one of my quiches by adding bacon, red chard (the Hermione of quiche ingredients), and red bell peppers. I realized too late that mushrooms would have been the perfect ingredient to go with everything else. Maybe mushrooms represent queer characters in this metaphor, but unlike J.K. Rowling, I was smart enough to realize that trying to add mushrooms in after the quiche came out of the oven was a pointless effort that would only highlight more that I failed to put mushrooms into my quiche in the first place.

So, I guess what I’m saying, really, is a quiche can save the world—if you manipulate it for six books, acting as the wise mentor who continually convinces the quiche to risk his life while withholding information and supporting a delusional, bigoted, friend-zoned creep who thinks obsession is somehow a form of love.

P.s. Use red chard it’s sooooo goooood!

Recipe for Quiche

6 Harry Potters

1 Cup of Shredded Luna Lovegood (Cheddar Cheese)

1 ½ Cups of Moaning Myrtle (Milk)

½ lb. of Buckbeak (Bacon)

Shredded Hermione (Red Chard)

1 Star Wars Plot and Protagonist (Frozen Pie Crust)

1. Poke crust with four-pronged wand, and then bake for 15–20 minutes at 375 until lightly browned.
2. Cook Buckbeak. Slice into bitesize bits.
3. Mix all ingredients together in a bowl.
4. Pour into Star Wars plot.
5. Bake at 375 for 20–50 mins. I have seriously had to always eyeball this for when the quiche is puffed up enough, has started to brown, and no longer wiggles. I have never had a quiche back as quickly as the recipe says.
6. Let cool for 15 mins.
7. Maybe eat it, but I won’t tell you how to live your life.

Great for breakfast all 5 days of the week. Not great for knowing how to appreciate an education at A SCHOOL OF MAGIC. Dear Lorde.

Well, yinz might as well get acquainted with a feeling of how this blog is going to be. Sure, there will be posts about food and recipes, but let’s start with some of the other types of posts. I bring you Man on a Hott Tin Roof—a series of posts where I find an image of some attractive man cooking on the internet and critique it according to my poor knowledge of men and cooking.

For our first specimen, I don’t care enough about him to research a name, and my male gayze certainly doesn’t require that I know his.

Stunning, I know. I mean, look at that man. Say it with me, “DAAAMMMMNNNNNNN.” And, like, keep saying it while I lose myself in those eyes. Swoon. He can help me cook any day. I could grate cheeses on those abs (hard cheeses, obvi) and maybe suffocate in that beard—what? Oh yeah, cooking. Right. Cooooking. I’m cooking with him. Definitely cooking.

Now, what is this swoon-worthy, you-text-him-back-before-your-phone-can-say-text-received man cooking today? Well, if we zoom up, pay close attention, and remove our eyes from his pecs, we see…

Wha…

Water? He’s boiling water. With a fork.

Oh boi. Looks like this boy can serve cake, but only from the supermarket. Reality begins to set in. This boy is no Scott Conant look-alike on fire island—he’s more the Chopped contestant you cheer for until he opens his mouth. Sources say he is most likely named Benji and his super power is being utterly useless in the kitchen and anywhere there’s low lighting. Plus, he’ll probably tell you that he’s in touch with his feminine side (because of that one time he went to a poetry reading in college) and that he just loves a night in with wine.

But you know what’s worse? That’s an electric kettle beside him on the counter, and he definitely can’t figure it out—leaving him with a small pot of water, a fork, and that look of “Is that a camera? I can never tell.” But dammit, Benji is trying. He just isn’t cut out for a smart life. Oops, I mean a smart technology life. I think.

Those tattoos don’t do him any justice either. Okay, sure, those inked biceps could cause a traffic jam on a hot July day. But you know he didn’t spell-check that rib tattoo of a spiritual mantra he pieced together from Pinterest quotes and Panda Express fortunes. I bet those women started out as smiling tattoos until they saw him post “I’m not a feminist because I support an EQUALTIY of genders! #makeamericagrateagain” on his Facebook.

Then, there’s his taste in accessories. You know he thinks those silicone bracelets are still a thing. Sorry, sweet boy, those went the way of slap bracelets and toe rings. (Dear Lorde, let flat-brimmed baseball caps be next. In your infinite queer wisdom, amen.)

I’m sorry, Benji. I just don’t think you’re cut out for my kitchen. I could certainly relocate you to other rooms in my house, but, for now, finish that personal trainer certification, chase those dreams of starting an online pocket watch store, and never stop accidentally tweeting out your passwords. Your “candid,” caption-less photos brighten up our Monday mornings, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

No really, please don’t try writing anything. *Places finger on your lips and whispers* “You’ll ruin it.”

Hott Level: 9 out of 9 brunch stares after bottomless mimosas

Cooking Skill: 26 years of burnt pancakes for that special someone

Likelihood of Remembering His Name Tomorrow: “Shit, was that supposed to be a teaspoon or tablespoon?”

Kitchen Safety: Some scarring on hands, but utter lack of cooking ambition means he probably hasn’t lost a finger yet.

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Answers Before Your Questions: Audre Lorde, obvi.