By August 2025. Memphis summer, 66 years old, and the heat wraps around Orange Mound like a wet blanket that nobody asked for but everybody wears because that is the deal you make when you live in the South. The smoker calls louder in summer — something about the heat amplifying the smoke, the way humidity amplifies everything in Memphis — and I answer, because answering is what pitmasters do.
Walter Jr. came by with the grandchildren, bringing the noise and energy that grandchildren bring, the house expanding to hold them the way a good pot expands to hold a good stew. Trey at the smoker, learning, absorbing, his hands getting steadier each visit, the fire recognizing him the way fire recognizes those who are meant to tend it.
Comfort food this week: a big pot of collard greens with smoked turkey neck, simmered for three hours until the greens were dark and silky and the pot liquor was a treasure. The kitchen smelled like Mama's kitchen in the shotgun house, and I stood at the stove and stirred and thought about hands — her hands, small and strong, teaching mine everything they know about turning humble ingredients into something that feeds not just the body but the soul.
I sat in the lawn chair next to Uncle Clyde's smoker as the dark came on, and I thought about what I always think about: the chain. From Clyde to me. From me to Trey, maybe, or Jerome, or whoever comes next with the patience and the hands and the willingness to stand next to a fire at three in the morning and wait for something good to happen. The chain doesn't break. The fire doesn't stop. And I am here, 66 years old, in a lawn chair in Orange Mound, Memphis, Tennessee, watching the smoke rise, and the rising is the living, and the living is the gift.
When Walter Jr. showed up with the grandchildren, the smoker was already committed to its own slow business and I wasn’t about to pull it away from that work — but hungry kids don’t wait on brisket time. So while Trey stood steady at the fire and the collard greens simmered low, I rolled up a quick tray of these ham and cheese roll-ups to buy everybody a little patience. Simple food has its own kind of wisdom: it gets out of the way and lets the moment be the moment.
Ham and Cheese Roll-Ups
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 large flour tortillas (burrito size)
- 8 oz deli ham, thinly sliced
- 4 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
- 2 tablespoons yellow mustard
- 1/2 cup shredded romaine or iceberg lettuce
- 1/4 cup dill pickle slices, patted dry
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Soften and season the cream cheese. In a small bowl, stir the softened cream cheese with a pinch of salt and black pepper until smooth and spreadable.
- Spread the base. Lay each flour tortilla flat on a clean work surface. Spread an even layer of cream cheese across the entire surface of each tortilla, going nearly to the edges.
- Add the mustard. Drizzle or spread a thin, even layer of yellow mustard over the cream cheese on each tortilla.
- Layer the fillings. Arrange the deli ham slices in a single layer over the cream cheese and mustard. Distribute the shredded cheddar evenly over the ham, then add the shredded lettuce and pat-dried pickle slices.
- Roll tightly. Starting at one edge, roll each tortilla firmly and evenly into a tight log, pressing gently as you go to keep the fillings from shifting.
- Slice and serve. Using a sharp knife, slice each roll on a slight diagonal into 1-inch rounds. Arrange on a platter and serve immediately, or wrap the whole logs in plastic wrap and refrigerate up to 4 hours before slicing.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 340 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 980mg