The week after the fight, and I am recalibrating. I cooked three times (not five). I spent two evenings on the couch with Brianna, not in the kitchen. I asked her about her clients. I asked about the hair business. I asked what she wanted for Christmas and she said, "Time," and I gave her Saturday afternoon — just us, Gloria watching the kids, a walk through the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights and talking about nothing and everything.
The walk was cold and long and perfect. We held hands in our gloves and our breath made clouds and she told me about a client who told her she was the best braider she had ever been to, and the pride in Brianna's voice was the same pride I feel when someone praises my food. We are both builders. We are both learning our crafts. The difference is that I had not been celebrating her craft the way she celebrates mine. That changes now.
Christmas Eve at the duplex. Same food, same family, same love. But this year I brought more than food — I brought attention. I sat next to Brianna at the table instead of in the kitchen helping Mama. I held her hand during grace. I laughed at her jokes. I watched her with Zaria and told her she was a good mother. She looked at me like I was a stranger saying the right things for the first time, and that look told me how long she has been waiting to hear them.
Marc gave Dad another mug: "World's Greatest Grandpa." The upgrade from "Okayest Father" to "Greatest Grandpa" charted Marc's own growth, and Dad laughed and used it immediately. The mug collection on Dad's shelf is becoming a Marc Carter comedy special, one Christmas at a time.
The ham was perfect. The mac and cheese was perfect. Everything at Mama's table is perfect because Mama does not allow imperfection in her kitchen or her family or the food that connects them.
Mama’s ham was perfect that Christmas Eve — it always is — but what I kept thinking about afterward was how to carry a little of that table into an ordinary Tuesday, into a weeknight when Brianna and I are both tired and the kids are loud and we still need something that feels like it matters. Ham ’n’ Cheese Pie is that dish for me now: it has the warmth of a holiday meal without asking you to spend all day in the kitchen away from the people you’re cooking for. Make it, sit down, and stay at the table this time.
Ham ’n’ Cheese Pie
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 6–8
Ingredients
- 1 unbaked 9-inch deep-dish pie crust
- 2 cups diced cooked ham
- 1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
- 1/2 cup shredded Swiss cheese
- 1/4 cup finely diced yellow onion
- 4 large eggs
- 1 1/2 cups whole milk
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
- 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- Salt to taste
- Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Place the unbaked pie crust in a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate and crimp the edges. Set aside.
- Layer the filling. Spread the diced ham evenly across the bottom of the crust. Top with the diced onion, then scatter both cheeses over the top in an even layer.
- Mix the custard. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, and sour cream until smooth. Add the dry mustard, garlic powder, pepper, and a pinch of salt. Whisk again to combine.
- Fill the crust. Slowly pour the egg mixture over the ham and cheese. Give the pan a gentle shake to help the custard settle evenly through the filling.
- Bake. Place the pie on a rimmed baking sheet to catch any drips. Bake for 40–45 minutes, until the custard is set in the center and the top is lightly golden. A knife inserted near the center should come out clean.
- Rest and serve. Let the pie rest for 10 minutes before slicing. Garnish with fresh parsley if desired. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 330 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 710mg
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 143 of DeShawn’s 30-year story
· Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.