Not my dad’s omelet

Growing up, Sundays were the days when Dad cooked breakfast.  You know how dads cook breakfast – they’re awesome at it.  Even if a dad can cook nothing else (btw mine can, he’s a great cook), a dad somehow always knows how to cook breakfast.  So on Sundays Dad cooked.  Usually it was biscuits, omelets and sometimes grits (hey, we’re from the South and we love our grits).  Dad was so good at omelet making that he could even patch one.  He made rolled omelets, meaning that he let the eggs set on the bottom, added all the chopped fillings right down the center of the omelet and rolled the eggs over the top.  If one got a little hole, he patched it with leftover egg.

I still love omelets, but I don’t make them Dad’s way.  Instead, my omelets are more like a cross between a frittata and a true omelet…I guess.  Anyway, here is a not-my-dads-omelet in pictures:

 

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