Tomato Quiche — The Brunch I Made for Two on the First Mother’s Day That Was Also a Last

Mother's Day, the first without Mama, and the holiday arrives with the particular weight of a celebration that has lost half its meaning — I am still a mother, but I am no longer a daughter, and the no-longer-a-daughter is the subtraction that changes the holiday's math: one minus one equals something that is not zero but that is less than it was, and the less-ness is the grief, and the grief is the holiday.

James sent flowers and a letter — a long letter, handwritten, about what Mama meant to him, about the Bible she gave him, about the recipes he wrote in the leather journal. The letter was James at his most James: precise, emotional beneath the precision, the words chosen with the care of a man who has been trained in language by Morrison and Faulkner and the law and who uses all three traditions to express the one thing none of them can fully capture: the loss of a grandmother who was the foundation of a family that is now finding its footing on the new ground.

Carrie called from Fukuoka at midnight her time. She was crying before I answered. She said, "I miss Grandma." I said, "I know." She said, "I miss you." I said, "I know." She said, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom." And the saying was the gift, and the gift was the three words, and the three words were the holiday.

Robert gave me a wooden frame — hand-carved, walnut — containing the photograph of me and Mama in the kitchen, the one James took without my knowledge, the one that hangs on the kitchen wall. Robert had made a second copy and framed it for the desk in the writing room. The frame is the gift of a man who understands that the woman at the desk writes about the woman in the photograph, and the writing requires the seeing, and the seeing requires the photograph, and the photograph requires the frame, and the frame is the love.

I made brunch — shrimp and grits, biscuits, fruit — for Robert and me. The first Mother's Day brunch for two. The two was the most and the least the holiday could hold, and the holding was the brunch, and the brunch was the cooking, and the cooking was the Mother's Day.

Shrimp and grits anchored the brunch, but it was the quiche that held the quiet — the kind of dish that asks you to slow down, to wait, to tend to something that needs the oven’s time before it can give you anything back. I had made it for Mama once, years ago, and she had asked for the recipe, and I had never written it down, and the not-writing is one of the small losses nested inside the larger one. This Mother’s Day, I wrote it down. It is here now, for Carrie in Fukuoka and for James with his leather journal and for Robert who carved the walnut frame, and for anyone who has ever cooked a meal that was both a celebration and a grief, and who needed the cooking to be both at once.

Tomato Quiche

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1 9-inch unbaked pie crust (store-bought or homemade)
• 3 medium ripe tomatoes, sliced 1/4 inch thick
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
• 3 large eggs
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1 cup shredded Gruyère or Swiss cheese
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• 2 tablespoons fresh basil, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 tablespoon olive oil

Instructions

1. Prep the tomatoes. Lay tomato slices in a single layer on a paper-towel-lined baking sheet. Sprinkle with 1/4 teaspoon salt and let rest 15 minutes to draw out excess moisture. Pat dry with additional paper towels.
2. Blind-bake the crust. Preheat oven to 375°F. Fit the pie crust into a 9-inch pie dish and crimp the edges. Line with parchment paper, fill with pie weights or dried beans, and bake for 12 minutes. Remove weights and parchment and bake an additional 5 minutes until the bottom is just set. Remove from oven.
3. Make the custard. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, and milk until smooth. Stir in 3/4 of the Gruyère, the Parmesan, thyme, black pepper, garlic powder, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt.
4. Assemble the quiche. Scatter the remaining Gruyère over the bottom of the warm crust. Pour the custard mixture over the cheese. Arrange the tomato slices on top, overlapping slightly. Drizzle with olive oil and scatter the fresh basil over the tomatoes.
5. Bake. Bake at 375°F for 40–45 minutes, until the custard is just set at the center and the top is golden. A knife inserted near the center should come out clean. If the crust edges brown too quickly, cover them loosely with foil.
6. Rest and serve. Let the quiche rest on a wire rack for at least 10 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 380 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 430mg