Deviled Ham Quiche

This recipe, if you live anywhere but the American South, is going to be another recipe-within-a-recipe situation. For that reason alone, I am pretty sure that Eleanor cut this one out of Better Homes & Gardens for the cookie recipes adjacent to it, not the quiche. But I've found other quiche recipes in the box before, and my mom had to learn how to make my favourite meal somewhere, so maybe I'm wrong. Regardless, if you're one of those poor souls who doesn't like quiche, I dare you to try this one and not change your mind.

Hear me out before you give up-- I know it sounds weird, but deviled ham is ridiculously good. Sure, it's one of those foods you don't want to admit to liking (like anchovies, or prunes, or those Hostess cakes with the white curlicue of frosting), but also like those foods, when you've got a hankering for it, there's not much else that will suffice. I'll always associate deviled ham with Christmas time at my (other) grandmother's house, where it came to us in styrofoam containers, served with butter crackers and purchased in large quantities from a local restaurant known for making it. We called it ham salad, but I'd wager, having now made deviled ham, that it's exactly the same thing. Anyway, homemade deviled ham on Club crackers is a delicious snack that I haven't had in years, but upon finding this recipe in the box, I knew it was time to attempt to make it myself. Unlike the kind I've had in the US that usually comes with bits of sweet pickle minced into it, the recipe I used for this was fairly basic-- just ham, a wee bit of cream cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard to hold it together, and a whole bunch of herbs and spices to flavour it really well.

If you somehow have access to either pre-made deviled ham or ham salad, it would definitely make this recipe easier, but I can't vouch for texture or taste as I made mine myself because deviled ham, at least in Scotland, is not something you can buy in a can at the grocery store.

If you're still doubting whether this recipe is good, think of it this way: it's basically an open-faced ham and egg sandwich, with some cheese thrown in for good measure. Seriously, how could you go wrong? Serve this with a peach-topped arugula salad with balsamic vinaigrette and you've got my favourite summer dinner on a plate. Plus, this quiche reheats like a charm, so you can fight over the last piece, even if it takes you three more days to finish the whole thing.

Some tips:

• If you can't access pre-made deviled ham and can't be bothered to make it yourself, you could just dice up some thick-cut pre-cooked ham into this and it would be fine, though slightly less tasty.

• The extra moisture from the deviled ham means that the interior of this quiche takes awhile to set-- so you'll definitely want to pre-bake your crust to make sure it stays nice and dry, and to keep it from getting soggy.

• This makes a great brunch (ham, eggs, and cheese? What's not to love?), but it works just as well for lunch or dinner, too.

THE VERDICT:

5 spoons out of five. I wasn't kidding when I said we fought over the last piece.

THE RECIPE:

Deviled Ham Quiche

the directions:

Preheat oven to 218C/425F.
Spread deviled ham in pre-baked pie shell.
Sprinkle on cheese and onion.
Beat eggs lightly, then add cream or milk, salt, and nutmeg.
Pour into pie shell and sprinkle with paprika.
Bake 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 150C/300F and bake 30-40 minutes longer or until just set in the middle.
If crust begins to brown too much, wrap edges in foil.
Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

the ingredients:

9” pie shell, pre-baked until lightly golden (from this recipe, or store-bought)
9 oz deviled ham (from this recipe, or store-bought)
1 c Swiss or sharp white cheddar cheese, grated
1/3 c onion, chopped finely
3 eggs
1 ½ c mik or cream
¾ tsp salt
Sprinkle of nutmeg
Sprinkle of paprika

Spicy-Sweet Barbecue Sauce

Have you ever thought to yourself 'boy, I would like some barbecue sauce, but I wish it was spicy?' No? Then you're not thinking broadly enough.

During an ill-fated attempt at being a vegetarian when I was a teenager, I never really missed meat very much, but whenever I did, I'd just eat some veggies (usually in the form of french fries) smothered in barbecue sauce. It satisfied my cravings for something meat-like and was as close as I could get to the flavour I wanted without breaking my quest for meatlessness.

Anyway, I became quite adept during those years at modifying barbecue sauces and bottles of A-1 to taste the way I wanted them to, and then I'd dump the sauce over my black-bean burgers and imagine I was being healthy. (This was before I knew much about food. Or nutrition. Or cooking. Or... anything, really.) But one of the flavours I like best in barbecue sauce is the spiciness, and it's kind of hard to find in a bottled sauce. NO MORE, though, friends! This barbecue sauce is the perfect blend of sweet, spicy, and smoky, without being too much of any single flavour.

And even if you, like me, live in a place where chili sauce is not available, you can still make this. Thanks to my awesome mother-in-law, who sent me a photo of the ingredient label from a bottle of chili sauce, I was able to come up with a vague approximation made with ingredients even I could get. You can tweak this to be as hot or mild as you want, but I recommend making it as explained below-- it's the perfect summer meal for those long evenings where it doesn't get dark until midnight and you just want to sit on the porch with your friends...

Unless you live in Scotland, where a sudden cold snap has taken the temperature back down into the 15C/60F range. Oh well, I built up my heat threshold as a kid in Florida, so I guess it's about time I lived somewhere cold.

The verdict:

4 spoons out of five. This barbecue sauce is awesome, but I'm taking off a spoon because it's not intended to be smooth. If you have an immersion blender and can be bothered to do so, I highly recommend blending this until thick and smooth.

The recipe:

Spicy-Sweet Barbecue Sauce

the directions:

Heat oil over medium heat in small pan.
Add onion and saute until tender.
Stir in sriracha, brown sauce or A-1, ketchup, water, corn syrup, vinegar, and worcestershire sauce.
Bring to a boil then reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes.
Let mixture reduce until thick and sticky.
Use on chicken, beef, or pork, brushing on frequently during last stage of cooking.
Serve additional sauce on the side.

Makes 1 ½ cups.

the ingredients:

2 tbsp vegetable oil
¼ c onion, minced or grated as finely as you can
¼ c sriracha
¼ c brown sauce or A-1
½ c ketchup
1/3 c water (or to taste)
¼ c dark corn syrup or black treacle
¼ c vinegar
1 tbsp worcestershire sauce

Seven Layer Salad

Recently I was having a conversation with some friends about strange things to eat-- we were exchanging meal recipes from our childhood that our parents forced us into (scrambled eggs with ketchup), things our friends ate that boggled our minds (Eggo waffles with maple syrup and ketchup), and things we had read that just sounded terrible (lots of things from this blog, and anything involving canned pineapple).

Overall, though, the running theme of the conversation was mayonnaise in all its possible iterations with no distinction to be made between mayo, Miracle Whip, and 'salad dressing,' a term I never heard until I moved to Kentucky and even then didn't really understand. Let's be real: use of the phrase 'salad dressing' to apply to something mayo-like is up there with 'relish' vs. 'pickle relish' on the list of Kentuckian concepts I don't understand.

I wish I liked mayonnaise, really I do. It would be nice not to have to avoid it on sandwiches every time I go out to lunch. I don't care that continental Europeans eat mayo on their french fries, I don't care that it's the main component of tartar sauce (more on that later), and I definitely don't care that there seems to be a difference, technically, between mayonnaise and Miracle Whip. I don't like it and nothing will change my mind. The weirdest part about all of this, though, is that we realised, over the course of our conversation, that all of the strangest recipes we know of are only weird because of the condiments involved... and usually, that condiment is mayonnaise. Peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, crushed pineapple and mayonnaise on white bread, and of course the mayo-slicked strangeness of Coronation Chicken salad, almost everything we could think of was mayonnaise related.

So, because I can't ever leave well enough alone, I started to analyse what it is that makes mayonnaise so terrifically off-putting. So I listed the ingredients to myself and suddenly I realised: all of the ingredients of mayonnaise are in an average cake. If you added cocoa powder and flour and baked a jar of mayo, you'd come out with a chocolate cake! (By all likelihood, a terrible one, but a cake nonetheless). I mean, think about it: eggs, lemon juice or another acid, and oil. It's all the ingredients you add to a box of cake mix to make brownies! I'm not sure what this means, but I'm sure I've stumbled upon something, because seriously, eww.

Now don't worry, I'm not asking you to make a mayonnaise cake... yet. But I made my own rules for this blog, so I have no one to blame but myself when things go awry, and go awry they did when it came time for this salad. Luckily, I don't have a trifle dish (but I'm excusing myself since I know for a fact that Eleanor didn't have one either), and if I did, I don't think I would deign to defile it with this mayo monstrosity. Even more luckily (for you), I've tweaked the recipe below to make it less terrible and indeed, more delicious. But I'll forgive you if you don't rush right out and make it, seeing as it's more or less just 'house salad.'

Scotland's been hit by a heat wave of epic proportions this week, though-- yesterday was the hottest July 1st Britain has ever seen, and in a country where air-conditioning is considered an innovation that causes head colds, we're powering through 24 hours a day of mid-20s (Celsius) temperatures.

It's seriously amazing. So if you, too, are in the midst of a summer heatwave-- or you just need something healthy to pair with all the flag cake you're going to eat this weekend-- make this salad and enjoy it. I promise, tweaked as below, it's pretty delicious. Plus, it's an easy tweak to make it vegetarian (or vegan!) and still get all the flavour from the great veggies that are all in season this time of year.

The verdict:

3 spoons out of five. This is delicious, light, and healthy and I highly recommend it. But I have a hard time giving more than three stars to a recipe I have been making (unknowingly) since I first learned how to salad. 

The recipe:

Seven Layer Salad

the directions:

In large serving bowl, layer lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms, peas, cheese, and onions.
Place dollop of mayo in the centre of the top layer.
Chill for 20 minutes, then serve with salad dressing of your choice on the side (the mayo will make any vinaigrette into a slightly creamier, less tangy dressing, instead of being the only flavour in the salad).

Yields 2 large dinner salads, or 4 petite side salads.

the ingredients:

2 little gem lettuces, shredded
1 handful smallest tomatoes
1 c sliced mushrooms
8 oz frozen peas, thawed and drained
Sprinkle of sharp cheddar cheese
1 small red onion, sliced thinly
1 heaping spoonful mayonnaise or Miracle Whip
Salad dressing of your choice (we used balsamic vinegar with honey)