Reuben And Rye Strata

End of February and the winter is loosening its grip the way Kentucky winters do — not all at once but in gestures, a warm afternoon here, a robin there, the crocuses pushing through the frozen ground like they're late for something. I walked Tuesday morning and the sun was up before I finished, which hasn't happened since October, and the extra light felt like a gift, like the world was saying I see you out here, I see you trying, here's some light.

Made a big batch of pimento cheese because spring is coming and pimento cheese is a spring-through-fall food that lives in the refrigerator and goes on everything — crackers, sandwiches, celery, straight off the spoon when nobody's looking. Sharp cheddar, cream cheese, pimentos from a jar, a little mayo, a little cayenne, a pinch of garlic powder. Mixed by hand, not food processor, because the texture should be chunky, not smooth, because pimento cheese is supposed to have personality and a food processor removes personality along with the lumps. Betty made pimento cheese for church suppers and it was always the first thing gone, and I asked her once why and she said because I use sharp cheddar and those other women use mild, and sharp cheddar is for people who aren't afraid of flavor and mild cheddar is for people who want cheese to apologize for being cheese.

Drove to Evarts Saturday. Betty was on the porch again, wrapped in a sweater that I recognize as one of Earl's old cardigans, the green one, the one he wore every Saturday for twenty years. She's wearing her dead husband's sweater on the porch where he used to sit and she doesn't think it's sad. She thinks it's warm. She's right. Warm is the point. Sadness is just what other people see when they don't understand that wearing a dead man's sweater is a kind of company.

Mowed what needed mowing, which was nothing, but I walked the yard and checked the fence and tightened a loose board on the porch steps and heated up soup beans she'd made Monday because even at eighty-two, Betty makes soup beans on Monday. We ate together at her kitchen table, the table I ate at as a child, the table with the burn mark from the time Dale put a hot pan down without a trivet and Betty didn't speak to him for two days, which in our family was a capital punishment. I looked at Betty across the table and she looked old and small and permanent, like the mountain she lives on, and I thought: I'm going to bring her home. Not today. Not this year maybe. But someday I'm going to bring us all home.

Sitting across from Betty at that kitchen table — the burn-marked one, the permanent one — eating soup beans she’d made on Monday the way she’s made them every Monday for sixty years, I kept thinking about food that holds its shape, food that layers itself into something bigger than its parts and asks you to sit down and stay. The Reuben and Rye Strata is that kind of food: rye bread soaking up a savory custard, corned beef and Swiss pulling the whole thing together, tangy and rich and unapologetically filling. Betty would approve. It’s for people who aren’t afraid of flavor.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes (plus overnight rest) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

8 slices rye bread, cubed (about 6 cups)
3/4 lb thinly sliced corned beef, roughly chopped
1 1/2 cups sauerkraut, drained and squeezed dry
2 cups shredded Swiss cheese, divided
6 large eggs
2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup Thousand Island dressing
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon caraway seeds (optional)
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
Cooking spray or butter for greasing

Instructions

Prep the dish. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish. Spread half the cubed rye bread in an even layer across the bottom.
Layer the filling. Scatter the chopped corned beef evenly over the bread, then spread the drained sauerkraut across the top. Sprinkle on 1 cup of the shredded Swiss cheese.
Add the second bread layer. Top with the remaining cubed rye bread, pressing down gently so the layers begin to settle together.
Whisk the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, Thousand Island dressing, Dijon mustard, black pepper, and garlic powder until smooth and fully combined.
Pour and rest. Pour the custard evenly over the layered bread and fillings. Press down with a spatula so all the bread begins to absorb the liquid. Top with the remaining 1 cup Swiss cheese and sprinkle with caraway seeds if using. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 4 hours, or overnight.
Bake. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350°F. Remove the strata from the refrigerator and let it sit at room temperature for 20 minutes. Bake uncovered for 50–55 minutes, until the top is golden and the center is set and no longer jiggly.
Rest before serving. Let the strata rest 10 minutes before cutting into squares. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Reuben And Rye Strata — The Kind of Dish You Make When You’re Already Thinking About Coming Home