Ham & Cheese Stuffed Potatoes

Christmas Eve without Babcia Rose. Her chair was empty. Dziadek Wally sat next to it. The golabki were in the warming dish, made by my hands from her filling proportions, the ones I have been practicing since July, and they were not hers, and they were close, and they were the best thing I could do.

Patty and I made the pierogi together on December 23rd. Two days before Christmas Eve. We stood in her kitchen and we made dough and we filled and folded and Patty said the folding was right and we boiled them and sauteed them in butter in Babcia Rose's cast iron skillet that is now Patty's, that Babcia Rose left to Patty in her will along with three other things: the ceramic Madonna from the bedroom, the recipe notebook (but I had already been given that, she told me directly that summer, she put my hands on it and said yours, you will know what to do), and the cast iron skillet that has been in this family since before either of them could remember where it came from. The pierogi from that skillet tasted different. Better. I do not know if I am imagining this. I am not imagining this.

Dziadek Wally ate three pierogi and put his hand on the empty chair back twice during the meal and said very little, and when he left he kissed my forehead, which he has never done before, and said something in Polish that Patty later told me meant: she chose right, giving it to you. I drove home and cried and then I pulled myself together because the babies were in the back seat singing something that was not quite a song but had the shape of one, and the night was cold and the neighborhood had lights, and it was Christmas Eve.

I made the mushroom soup from the notebook. I made the beet salad from the notebook. I made the golabki from practice. I served everything at the table where Babcia Rose had always sat. She was not there and she was everywhere. This is what it means to cook for the dead: you keep them in the kitchen.

In the days after Christmas, I kept cooking. Not from the notebook — I wasn’t ready for that again yet — but just to keep my hands moving, which is the only thing I know how to do when something is too big to hold still. These Ham & Cheese Stuffed Potatoes are what I made on the 26th, for no one in particular, just because I had potatoes and ham and because Babcia Rose would have said there is no sadness that a stuffed potato cannot at least sit next to. She would have eaten two and said they were fine, which from her meant very good.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 10 min | Total Time: 1 hr 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 large russet potatoes, scrubbed
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for skins
1 cup diced cooked ham
3/4 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 cup sour cream
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup whole milk, warmed
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 green onions, thinly sliced

Instructions

Bake the potatoes. Preheat oven to 400°F. Rub potatoes with olive oil and a pinch of salt. Pierce each potato several times with a fork and place directly on the oven rack. Bake for 55–65 minutes, until a knife slides through the center without resistance.
Cool and slice. Remove potatoes from the oven and let cool for 10 minutes. Slice each potato in half lengthwise. Carefully scoop out the flesh into a large bowl, leaving a 1/4-inch shell. Set the skins on a baking sheet.
Make the filling. To the bowl with the potato flesh, add butter, sour cream, and warmed milk. Mash until smooth. Stir in ham, 1/2 cup of the cheddar, green onions, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and black pepper. Mix until well combined.
Fill and top. Spoon the filling back into the potato skins, mounding slightly. Sprinkle the remaining 1/4 cup cheddar evenly over the tops.
Broil. Set oven to broil and place the baking sheet on the upper rack. Broil for 3–5 minutes, until the cheese is melted and lightly golden. Watch closely.
Serve. Garnish with additional green onions and a small dollop of sour cream if desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ham & Cheese Stuffed Potatoes — The Hands That Keep Going