Smoked Gouda and Ham Appetizer Tarts -- The Kitchen Holds Everyone

I read Paul's books in the evening. The shipwreck books, of course. The same chapters I have read forty times now. The repetition is the comfort. I am not reading for new information. I am reading because the act of opening Paul's books and turning Paul's pages is a form of sitting in the room with him. He is not in the room. The book was in his hand. The book is in my hand. The hands are connected through the book. Peter called from Chicago. He sounded thinner than last week. He said work was fine. I do not believe him. He said his apartment was fine. I do not believe him either. He asked about the dog. He asked about the lake. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. I told him about the bread I was baking. He said he could almost smell it through the phone. We hung up. I stood at the sink for a long minute. I did not know what else to do. Sophie texted a photo of Mira eating cereal. Mira's face was covered in milk. The photo was lit from the side by morning light and the smile in it was uninhibited and full and I could not stop looking at it. I printed the photo. I taped it to the fridge. I have a system on the fridge now: a column for each grandchild, a column for each great-grandchild, photos rotated weekly. The fridge is the gallery. The gallery is the proof. I cooked Spinach quiche this week. Pie crust, eggs, cream, sautéed spinach, gruyère, nutmeg. Baked until just set. Served warm or room-temperature with a green salad. Spring lunch. Thursday at the Damiano Center: I made an extra pot of pea soup, the way Mamma taught me — yellow split peas, ham hock, onion, the whole of Sunday afternoon dedicated to its slow simmer. Gerald said, "Variety. We approve." The regulars approved too. One older woman ate three bowls and asked if she could take some home. I sent her home with a quart in a glass jar. She is bringing the jar back next Thursday. We have an arrangement. I walked to the lake on Saturday. I stood at the spot where Paul and I used to walk — the bench at the end of the lakefront trail, the one with the brass plaque about a different Paul who died in 1972. I told my Paul about the week. About the kids. About the dog. About the soup. I do not feel foolish doing this. The lake is patient. The lake has, in some real sense, become my husband by proxy. I would not have predicted this in 1988. It has turned out to be true anyway. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. I have come to think that grief is not a problem to be solved. Grief is a country. You move into it. You learn its language. You make a life there. You do not leave the country, but you also do not spend every minute thinking about the fact that you live in it. You make breakfast. You walk the dog. You write a blog post. The country is the country. You live there now. It is enough.

The spinach quiche I made this week was for me — for the particular Tuesday silence of it, the smell of gruyère browning at the edges. But these smoked gouda and ham tarts are what I reach for when I want to bring something to a table, something that travels well in a covered dish and feeds people who are standing up and talking. They are the appetizer I made the week after the quiche, when Sophie came through with Mira on her way somewhere else, and I needed food that said “stay a little longer” without making anyone sit down formally. The smoked gouda is richer than gruyère, and the ham gives it the kind of salt that makes people reach for a second one before the first is finished. That is the recipe doing its work.

Smoked Gouda and Ham Appetizer Tarts

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 22 minutes | Total Time: 42 minutes | Servings: 12 tarts

Ingredients

• 1 sheet refrigerated pie crust (or 1 sheet puff pastry, thawed)
• 3/4 cup smoked gouda, finely shredded
• 1/2 cup cooked ham, finely diced
• 2 large eggs
• 1/3 cup heavy cream
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 tablespoon fresh chives or flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
• Nonstick cooking spray

Instructions

1. Preheat and prep. Heat the oven to 375°F. Lightly spray a standard 12-cup muffin tin with nonstick cooking spray and set aside.
2. Cut the pastry. On a lightly floured surface, unroll the pie crust and use a 3-inch round cutter (or the rim of a wide glass) to cut 12 circles. Gently press each circle into a muffin cup, fitting it up the sides without tearing. Chill the tin in the refrigerator for 10 minutes while you prepare the filling.
3. Mix the custard. In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, Dijon mustard, salt, and pepper until smooth and fully combined.
4. Fill the tarts. Divide the diced ham evenly among the chilled pastry cups. Spoon about 1 teaspoon of shredded gouda into each cup over the ham. Carefully pour the egg custard over each, filling to just below the rim of the pastry.
5. Top with cheese. Scatter the remaining gouda evenly across the tops of all 12 tarts.
6. Bake. Bake on the center rack for 20 to 22 minutes, until the custard is just set with no jiggle in the center and the pastry is lightly golden at the edges.
7. Cool and garnish. Let the tarts rest in the pan for 5 minutes before running a thin knife around each edge and lifting them out. Transfer to a serving platter and scatter the fresh chives or parsley over the top. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 178 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 318mg