Mustard Ham Strata

Easter at Mama's. We went to service at Greater Grace at 8 AM. Mama wore the same hat she's been wearing on Easter for twenty years. The whole family at her duplex for dinner — ham, mac and cheese, greens, sweet potatoes, dinner rolls. Lemon cake for dessert.

Pop's in the recliner. Tigers on. Sugar in range this week. Sunday at Mama's. She made greens with hambone the way she has since 1985.

Baked ziti this week. Sausage and ricotta. The dish that survives a freezer.

Aiden's 10. The youth basketball league. I'm coaching. He's the best player on the team and he knows it. Zaria's 7. Helps me cook on a step stool. Has opinions about the seasoning.

I drove home Sunday past the plant. The plant lights were on. The line was running. The line is always running.

A neighbor down the street gave me a tomato plant Saturday. He grows them on his porch. Said he had extra. I put it next to the back step where it gets the afternoon sun. Detroit gardens are improvised victories.

Watched the Tigers Sunday afternoon. Lost in extras. Detroit reflex. I yelled at the TV the way Pop used to yell at the TV. The TV did not respond. The bullpen will probably not respond either.

Mr. Williams across the street had a heart scare. He is okay. We are all watching each other now. I took him a plate of greens and chicken Wednesday. He said, "DeShawn. You're a good neighbor." I said, "We're even, Mr. Williams. You shoveled my walk in 2024." He laughed.

Plant ran clean this week. The line ran. The body held. The paycheck is the paycheck.

I cleaned the smoker Sunday morning. Brushed the grates. Emptied the ash. Wiped down the body. The smoker repays attention. So does most everything that matters.

Truck needed an oil change Saturday. Did it myself in the driveway. Took an hour. The neighbor across the street gave me a thumbs-up from his porch. I gave him one back. Detroit men do not waste words on car maintenance.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book about the auto industry. Half memoir, half history. Made me think about Pop and the line and the fragile contract that built the middle of this country. I underlined the parts that hit.

The Lions on TV Sunday. Lost on a missed field goal. Detroit. The neighborhood collectively groaned at the same moment. You could hear it through the windows.

Stopped at Eastern Market Saturday. Got chicken thighs, bacon, a watermelon, and a pound of greens that I did not need but bought anyway. The vendors know me by name now. Three of them asked about the family.

The drive home Friday was the long way around. I took Outer Drive past the lake. The water was still. I do not always notice the water. I noticed Friday.

A reader wrote in about the smothered pork chops. Said her late husband loved them. I wrote back. I told her about Pop. We exchanged three emails. She's in Saginaw. She's coming to the city in the spring.

Filled the propane tank Wednesday. The smoker is the only appliance I baby. Wiped it down. Checked the gaskets. Checked the temperature gauge. The smoker is mine the way Pop's torque wrench was his.

The basketball court at the rec center got refurbished. New floor. Plays different. Bouncy. I shot a few from the elbow before practice Wednesday. The knee held. The shot fell short.

Drove past Jefferson North on Tuesday. The plant is still the plant. The trucks coming out. I waved at the gate guard out of habit. He waved back even though he didn't know me. The plant is its own neighborhood.

Easter dinner at Mama’s left us with a hambone and the kind of full-house quiet that settles in after everyone drives home. I’d been thinking about baked ziti all week — the sausage, the ricotta, the fact that it holds in the freezer and feeds you on a Tuesday when the plant runs long — but what kept pulling me back was the ham. This Mustard Ham Strata is the bridge: it’s got that same baked-dish patience, the kind of thing you put together the night before and let the oven handle in the morning while Zaria’s still on the step stool asking why you didn’t add more seasoning. It’s a dish for a week like this one.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 50 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min (plus overnight rest if making ahead) | Servings: 6–8

Ingredients

8 slices sturdy white or sourdough bread, cubed (about 6 cups)
2 cups diced cooked ham
1 1/2 cups shredded Swiss or sharp cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 cup diced yellow onion
6 large eggs
2 1/2 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, for greasing

Instructions

Prep the dish. Butter a 9x13-inch baking dish. Spread the cubed bread evenly across the bottom.
Layer the filling. Scatter the diced ham and onion evenly over the bread. Sprinkle 1 cup of the shredded cheese across the top.
Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, Dijon mustard, whole-grain mustard, salt, pepper, and garlic powder until fully combined.
Soak the strata. Pour the custard evenly over the bread and ham mixture, pressing gently with a spatula to make sure every piece of bread absorbs the liquid. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or overnight for best results.
Bake. Preheat oven to 350°F. Remove the dish from the refrigerator and let it sit at room temperature for 10 minutes. Top with the remaining 1/2 cup of cheese. Bake uncovered for 45–55 minutes, until the center is set and the top is golden brown.
Rest and serve. Let the strata rest for 5–10 minutes before cutting. Serve warm. Holds well and reheats clean for leftovers.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mustard Ham Strata — The Dish That Shows Up When Family Does