Residual Heat

I made a frittata last night.

Nothing fancy. Onion, a little too much garlic, eggs, cremoso, a few jalapeños. Simple food, simple tools. Somehow it felt like an event.

A frittata has one quiet rule. It punishes fear.

Leave it in because you’re worried it isn’t done, it dries out. Rush it, it burns. You have to pull it while the center still looks slightly unsure, then let residual heat finish the job.

That part stayed with me.

For a long time, I overcooked things. Not only dinner, but decisions. I kept heat on longer than necessary because certainty felt safer than timing.

Last night I pulled it at the right moment.

I didn’t feel confident. I felt trepidation. Then it set perfectly.

Maybe that’s enough for now.

Some things don’t need more pressure. They need a steadier hand, a willingness to stop, and enough trust to let the final step happen without force.

Small wins like this don’t disappear. They accumulate. They build the kind of confidence that doesn’t have to announce itself.