In yesterday’s GoLocal column, I write of being reminded of my mother’s delicious omelet … when we took a cooking class in Barcelona.

Here is an excerpt from days of my youth …

At the lunch table, I took the sandwich out and removed the wax paper. Mom had cut the sandwich in half, and I could see its contents. The potatoes were browned, firm and crispy and were layered in a pillow of buttery-colored egg speckled with black pepper. A thin layer of olive oil covered the creation and oozed through the bread. An occasional onion popped up. Once there were a few pieces of sausage. The full-bodied Italian bread, now weakened by the oil, softened and split. Sometimes I punctured it with my fingers. It didn’t matter. Nor did it matter that the omelet was cold. Its’ consistency was better. I consumed it, chewing slowly so I could savor its full taste. The potatoes were crunchy, just the way I liked them; the eggs soft, the bread a mush of flavor — pepper, oil, the smell of our kitchen.

 The cooking class

Diane makes her omelet

Chef Alvaro

Harry is Thrilled

Click on the link below to read the entire column. Thanks

Of Tortillas & Omelets To Die For