By Week between Christmas and New Year's, which is the strangest week of the year — neither holiday nor regular, a liminal space where nobody knows what day it is and the ham is still in the refrigerator and you eat ham sandwiches for lunch because the ham exists and must be used and also because a cold ham sandwich on white bread with mustard is one of the underappreciated masterpieces of American food.
Made ham and bean soup Thursday from the hambone. The bone goes in the pot with dried navy beans — not pintos, navy, because ham and bean soup is a different thing from soup beans and I will defend this distinction with my life. Navy beans, ham bone, onion, celery, a bay leaf, water, slow heat. The bone gives up its marrow and its meat and its smoke over four hours and the beans drink it in and the soup gets thick enough to hold a spoon upright, which is the correct consistency for ham and bean soup according to Betty, who considered thin soup a moral failing.
Clay came by every day this week. Not for long — an hour, two hours, sitting on the porch or in the kitchen, drinking coffee, helping me with small projects. He cleaned the fire pit Monday. He organized the spice cabinet Tuesday, alphabetizing everything, which I didn't ask for but which Clay does because Clay needs order the way I need fire — it's a tool for controlling what can't otherwise be controlled. He's managing the break. He's showing up every day. He hasn't asked for a drink and I haven't smelled one and Connie watches him the way I watch the smoker — constant, peripheral, ready to adjust if the temperature changes.
New Year's Eve: Connie fell asleep at eleven-thirty-eight, which is two minutes earlier than last year, and I watched the ball drop alone and thought: another year. Clay is alive. Amber is thriving. Travis has a house. Betty is in Evarts. I am fifty-four with a bad back and a good wife and a kitchen full of ham and the ability to make soup that would hold a spoon upright. Two thousand twenty-two is done. I survived it. We all did. That's enough.
By the time New Year’s Eve arrived, the hambone had already given everything it had to four hours of soup, and what remained in the refrigerator was a modest pile of sliced ham that had already done its duty as sandwiches twice over. I didn’t want to throw it away — Betty would have considered that a moral failing on par with thin soup — so I did what you do when the week is almost done and the ham is almost gone: I made a quiche. It used up the last of it cleanly, it fed Connie and me without any ceremony, and it tasted like the kind of thing you eat when you’re grateful to have made it through.
Asparagus Ham Quiche
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust
- 1 cup cooked ham, diced
- 1 cup fresh asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
- 1 cup shredded Swiss cheese
- 3 large eggs
- 1 1/2 cups half-and-half
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
- Pinch of ground nutmeg
Instructions
- Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Place the unbaked pie crust in a 9-inch pie dish and crimp the edges.
- Blanch the asparagus. Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Add the asparagus pieces and cook for 2 minutes, then drain and pat dry.
- Build the filling. Scatter the diced ham evenly across the bottom of the pie crust. Layer the blanched asparagus over the ham, then top with the shredded Swiss cheese.
- Make the custard. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, half-and-half, salt, pepper, dry mustard, and nutmeg until smooth and well combined.
- Fill and bake. Pour the egg custard slowly and evenly over the filling in the crust. Bake for 40–45 minutes, until the center is just set and the top is lightly golden. A knife inserted near the center should come out clean.
- Rest before slicing. Let the quiche rest for 10 minutes before cutting. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 340 | Protein: 16g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 620mg