Memorial Day weekend. Milwaukee does Memorial Day right — parades, cookouts, the official opening of grilling season, which in Wisconsin is practically a religious observance. Dad fired up the Weber on Saturday and we did brats — Usinger's, because in this family we are loyal to Usinger's with a fervor that borders on unhealthy — and I brought potato salad and a six-pack of a pale ale I helped brew at work.
The potato salad was Babcia's recipe, of course. German-style — warm, with bacon, onion, vinegar, and mustard. No mayonnaise. Babcia was very clear about this: "Mayonnaise is for sandwiches, not for potatoes." The trick is adding the dressing while the potatoes are still hot so they absorb all the flavor. I've been making this one since I was a kid — it was one of the first things Babcia taught me, probably because it was one of the few things a ten-year-old couldn't mess up.
Mom seemed good. Better than she's been. She's joined a grief support group at church — St. Josaphat's has one that meets on Wednesday evenings — and she says it helps to talk to people who understand. Dad raised an eyebrow when she told us but didn't say anything, which is Dad's way of saying he doesn't understand therapy but he's not going to fight it.
I went to Danny's grave on Monday — Memorial Day proper. Brought a small American flag and stuck it in the ground next to his headstone. Danny wasn't military, obviously — he was sixteen — but Memorial Day has become a day I visit everyone I've lost. Danny. Babcia. Dziadek Stefan, who died before I was born but whose grave is right next to Babcia's now, together again. I sat on the grass between them and ate a bratwurst I'd wrapped in foil. It felt right. It felt like a picnic with people who can't eat anymore.
At the brewery, Helen's Wheat is conditioning. One more week. Marcus says he's going to put it on the taproom board if the final tasting holds up. That means people — strangers, beer nerds, Yelp reviewers — are going to drink something I named after my dead grandmother. The thought makes me simultaneously proud and terrified.
Also made something new this week: a smoked Polish sausage with grilled peppers and onions, served on a pretzel roll with beer mustard. Inspired by the brewery taproom menu, which does a version with bratwurst. I used kielbasa instead because I'm Polish and that's what we do. The pretzel roll came from Sciortino's Bakery — the one on Brady Street that's been there since 1948. Milwaukee is a city of old things that endure. Bakeries, churches, cemeteries, families. I'm starting to understand that I'm part of that chain.
Babcia’s potato salad will always be the headliner — warm, vinegary, built on bacon and onion and the kind of confidence that only comes from making something a thousand times — but when I wanted to carry those same flavors off the picnic blanket and onto the dinner table, this Bacon Onion Tart is where I landed. It’s the same core: smoky bacon, slow-cooked onions, a little sharpness to cut through the richness. Babcia never made a tart in her life, but I think she’d recognize what’s at the heart of it. Sometimes honoring someone means taking what they taught you and building something new — a tart, a beer, a life — that still tastes like them.
Bacon Onion Tart
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 9-inch unbaked pie or tart crust (homemade or store-bought)
- 6 strips thick-cut bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
- 2 large yellow onions, halved and thinly sliced
- 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (or 1/2 tsp dried)
- 1 teaspoon whole-grain or Dijon mustard
- 3 large eggs
- 1 cup heavy cream
- 1/4 cup whole milk
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
Instructions
- Preheat and prep crust. Preheat oven to 375°F. Fit the pie or tart crust into a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom (or a standard pie plate). Prick the bottom several times with a fork, line with parchment, fill with pie weights or dried beans, and blind-bake for 12 minutes. Remove weights and parchment and bake 5 minutes more until lightly golden. Set aside.
- Cook the bacon. In a large skillet over medium heat, cook the bacon pieces until crisp and rendered, about 8 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of the bacon fat from the pan.
- Caramelize the onions. Return the skillet to medium-low heat. Add the sliced onions and thyme and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are deeply golden and soft, about 25 minutes. Add the apple cider vinegar in the last 2 minutes and stir to deglaze. Stir in the mustard. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
- Make the custard. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, milk, salt, pepper, and nutmeg until smooth and fully combined.
- Assemble the tart. Spread the caramelized onion mixture evenly over the bottom of the par-baked crust. Scatter the cooked bacon over the onions. Slowly pour the egg and cream custard over the top, letting it settle between the onions and bacon.
- Bake. Place the tart on a rimmed baking sheet and bake at 375°F for 28–32 minutes, until the custard is set in the center with just a slight jiggle and the top is lightly golden. A knife inserted near the center should come out clean.
- Cool and serve. Let the tart rest at least 10 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature. Pairs well with a light salad and, naturally, a good pale ale.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 370 | Protein: 10g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 21g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 510mg
About the cook who shared this
Jake Kowalski
Week 113 of Jake’s 30-year story
· Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Jake is a twenty-nine-year-old brewery worker, newlywed, and proud Polish-American from Milwaukee's Bay View neighborhood. He didn't start cooking until his grandmother Babcia Helen passed away and left behind a stack of grease-stained recipe cards. Now he makes pierogi from scratch, smokes meats on a balcony smoker his landlord pretends not to notice, and writes for guys who want to cook good food but don't know a roux from a rub.