Bubble and Squeak with Ham — The Morning After the Réveillon Table

Christmas at the yellow cottage was everything it should have been, which means it was loud, overfed, emotional, slightly chaotic, and perfect in the way that only imperfect things can be. Let me walk you through it, because if you're going to understand the Beaumont family, you need to understand our Christmas.

Christmas Eve. Midnight mass at St. Joseph Co-Cathedral in Thibodaux — the same church where Danielle and I were married in 2005. The kids were in their church clothes: Luc looking uncomfortable in a tie, Colette looking like a catalogue model because she takes after Danielle, and Rémy in a sweater vest that he tolerated for exactly forty-five minutes before declaring it "itchy" and removing it in the pew. Mama sat between Pierre and Angelle, singing the hymns in French — the old French, the Cajun French — and her voice cracked on "Minuit, chrétiens" and I held Danielle's hand and tried very hard not to fall apart in a church on Christmas Eve, and succeeded, barely.

After mass: réveillon. Mama's table at 1 AM, loaded beyond reason. Gumbo (chicken and sausage, her recipe, no tomatoes). Baked ham glazed with fig preserves from Joey's tree. My brisket, sliced thin, still warm from the cooler. Rice dressing. Dirty rice. Green bean casserole (Angelle's contribution — not Cajun at all, but we allow it because it's Christmas). Cornbread. French bread. Sweet potato pie. Pecan pie. My bread pudding with the whiskey sauce, which Pierre ate three servings of and said nothing about, which from Pierre means it was transcendent.

The kids opened gifts on Christmas morning. Luc got his video games and his shoes and looked genuinely happy, which for an eleven-year-old boy is the equivalent of a standing ovation. Colette got art supplies — real ones, watercolors and brushes and a sketchbook — and sat on the floor drawing for the rest of the morning. Rémy got a fishing rod. A real one. Kid-sized, but real. He held it like a scepter and proclaimed, "Now I'm a fisherman," and Mama said, "Oui, bébé, like your Papaw," and nobody had to explain what that meant because everybody knew.

The day after Christmas, we drove home. The truck was fuller than when we came: Mama sent us with leftovers (enough to eat for a week), two more jars of fig preserves, a bag of satsumas from her tree, and a cast-iron cornbread pan that she insisted I take because "you need a good one" (I have three). The drive was quiet — the kids slept, Danielle dozed, and I drove through the sugarcane country with the radio on low, Cajun Christmas music playing, and the bayou behind me and the city ahead, and I thought about time. How it moves. How the years stack up like bricks in a pit, one on top of another, building something you can't see until you step back. Thirty-four years. Three kids. One wife. One pit. One cottage. One pot of gumbo at midnight. A life. This is a life. And it's good. C'est bon, cher. C'est bon.

Mama sent us home with enough food to last a week, and the first thing I did when we unpacked was stare at a refrigerator full of leftovers and think about the simplest, most satisfying way to honor all of it — not a project, not a production, just something good and humble and real. That drive through the sugarcane country had me feeling quiet and grateful, the kind of mood where you don’t want to fuss, you just want to cook something with your hands and eat it. Bubble and Squeak with leftover ham is exactly that — a pan full of everything that mattered, crisped up in cast iron and put on the table without ceremony.

Bubble and Squeak with Ham

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 cups mashed or roughly smashed cooked potatoes (leftover works perfectly)
• 1 1/2 cups cooked cabbage or Brussels sprouts, roughly chopped
• 1 1/2 cups diced cooked ham (from a glazed holiday ham, about 1/2-inch pieces)
• 1/2 cup diced yellow onion
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as canola or vegetable)
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
• 2 teaspoons whole-grain or Creole mustard, for serving
• 4 eggs, fried or poached, for serving (optional but recommended)
• Fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

1. Combine the base. In a large bowl, mix the smashed potatoes and chopped cooked cabbage together until roughly combined. Fold in the diced ham, garlic, black pepper, and smoked paprika. The mixture should hold together loosely when pressed — not smooth, but cohesive.
2. Build the crust. In a large cast-iron or heavy skillet, heat the butter and oil together over medium-high heat until the butter is foaming and just beginning to brown. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring, for 3 to 4 minutes until softened and golden at the edges.
3. Press and cook. Add the potato-ham mixture to the skillet and press it firmly into an even layer with a spatula. Let it cook undisturbed for 7 to 8 minutes over medium heat, until a deep golden-brown crust forms on the bottom. Resist the urge to stir.
4. Flip in sections. Using a wide spatula, cut the cake into quarters and flip each section individually. Press each piece down again and cook for another 6 to 7 minutes until the second side is equally crisp. If some pieces break apart, press them back together — the crust will re-form.
5. Taste and finish. Season with salt to taste. The ham brings its own salt, so go easy. Transfer to plates and top with a fried or poached egg if using, a small spoonful of Creole or whole-grain mustard on the side, and a scatter of fresh parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 18g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 740mg