Anyway, someone whose cooking advice I instinctively trust came forth with the simple method I give you here. As soon as I slid the beautiful creation out of the pan and into my mouth (there was a plate between the two stages, just for show) I urgently wanted to eat six more. Thankfully I had run out of eggs.
I love the use of butter here, lots of it, because it froths and foams over the omelette gently cooking the top, and it tastes nice, and it’s butter, and anything with butter is good. Forget the ghastly rapeseed oil or any of that modern nonsense and heave a creamy yellow slab of gorgeous butter into the pan.
The instructions for this recipe came with some romance: “We have watched a man in La Troia Florence make artichoke omelettes as they have for decades. HE spins the small round pan, and has a huge tower of butter to help himself.”
How evocative. Shall we go to Florence?