ham and cheese puff-pastry bites with honey mustard (from Barbara Lynch's Stir)

I ate a lot of ham sandwiches growing up. Boiled, pressed ham shaved thin, spread flat between two slices of white bread slathered with bright yellow mustard and a slice of American cheese was an affordable meal for my parents to serve us. I don't miss the ham, but there's something incredibly comforting thinking about those sandwiches.

Nothing, however, compares to Karen's relationship with ham sandwiches. We're married 14 years this June. For a long time, we've known each other's stories so well that we can say a word or two, and we've compressed a five-minute story into a second. Which leaves more time for laughing. Or drinking.

But about five years ago, Karen and I were talking about fundraisers we did in high school. This was sparked by large boxes of chocolates at our place of employment. I remarked that both the price and the quality had increased since my time in HS band. I remember the terrible waxy bars resembling chocolate we were required to hustle, funding long and hot summer bus rides to town parades, where our plastic shoes stuck to the sizzling pavement. Bad chocolate, stinky polyester uniforms, but fun. Karen casually asks, "Why didn't you just sell ham sandwiches?"

How do you respond to that? What does that even mean? Is it a euphemism?


Clarifying, she tells me that at their school, they sold ham sandwiches as a fundraiser. Same boiled ham I ate growing up, but they used the far superior Martin's potato rolls. Long assembly lines, done in shifts. People would buy sacks of sandwiches. Mustard packets included. She sees nothing wrong with this, nothing weird, completely socially acceptable.

To me, a sack of ham sandwiches is the most terrifying fundraiser ever. Worse than the 1970s-friendly tall candles my brothers sold, worse than the crocks of processed cheese spread and summer sausage we sold in elementary school. To quote Karen, "People would buy enough to feed their family for the week." Huh.

So. Let's reconsider the ham sandwich, shall we? No bright yellow mustard, no white bread, no rubbery cheese slices. And no fundraiser.

I think it's pretty clear, if you've read even a little of this blog, we'd make just about anything that has Barbara Lynch's name on it. Her food is incredibly, (nearly) impossibly tasty. The one thing we've heard from our readers both here and on Facebook is that her recipes seem a little/lot involved. I sort of (don't) agree. Yes, they take time, but nothing is terribly hard.

The one is incredibly easy, with lots of shortcuts built right into it. It explodes with flavor, so there's no reason to avoid making it. Unless you don't eat pork. Or wheat. Or dairy. We'll excuse the non-pork-wheat-dairy eaters among you.

This is the best ham and cheese sandwich you've ever eaten. Promise.
recipe | ham and cheese puff-pastry bites with honey mustard (from Barbara Lynch's Stir)
for the honey mustard

• 2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 onion, thinly sliced
• 3 tablespoons honey
• 3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• Salt and pepper

for the rest of it

• Two sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed as the package directs (get the best available brand; try for all-butter)
• 1/2 pound thinly sliced smoked ham
• 1/2 pound shredded Gruyère cheese (we added in some Comte that we had from French onion soup)
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 1/2 teaspoon sea or Kosher salt

directions

• Heat a skillet over medium heat. Add the oil. Add the onion, Stir until softened. Ours took 10 minutes. Add the honey and the mustard and cook, stirring every so often, for another 5 minutes. Puree in a food processor until sort of smooth. Taste and add salt and pepper if you need it.
• Heat the oven to 375°. 
• Line a baking sheet with parchment. Lay down one sheet of the puff pastry and roll out until about 1/8 inch. 
• Spread out the honey mustard, leaving a 3/4-inch border uncovered. Slap down the ham. Then cover with the cheese.

• 
  
  Roll out the remaining pastry sheet on parchment, then carefully flip over the parchment/pastry on top of the cheese. (The parchment should be staring you in the face, not the dough.)
• Seal the edges. Do everything you can to make these edges stick [crimp, press with fork, staple it if you must (don't do that)]. 
• Cover the top with the remaining egg and sprinkle with the salt. 
• Lay another cookie sheet on top of the top layer of parchment to hold down the pastry. Bake for about 20 minutes. 
• Remove the top pan. Bake until deep golden brown. Ours took 20 minutes, but check yours at 15 minutes. 
• Let cool for 10 minutes at least. Cut up into pieces, depending on how many you're serving. 
• Would make a great appetizer, but we served larger sizes with a Bouchon salad.

Comments

[brandy101]

mmm, *I* would like it but my family is notably mustard-unfriendly.

I'm thinking this could be a great brunch idea, so I'd like to try it.

Any ideas for a different seasoning spread? Fam is very vegetable-friendly, just not into mustard or mayo.

(Although I love virtually every mustard and mayo/aioli under the sun)

[The Pêche]

@brandy101 - I'd try caramelizing some onions (might consider a half-moon slice instead of the whole onion so it's easier to bite). Maybe add a little of your favorite vinegar toward the end to get the bite of the mustard. Then spread the onions in place of the mustard (which I'd still make and serve on the side).

[Mir]

And this is why I miss wheat so much. There's just no substitute for some things, like puff pastry. (I mean, I could just slather the ham and cheese with butter, but that seems a bit much even for me.)

[jen]

I LOVE ham and cheese sandwiches! I'm excited about trying this out (sans mustard, of course). And I'm sorry, Karen, but a ham sandwich fundraiser is just plain odd - however, I forgive you since you used potato rolls.

[Shelly in Austin]

I can't wait to make this! Yum! I have a mustard issue in my house, as well. I think I will cut the pastry in half and make one with and one without. Serve the remaining mustard on the side to see if I can convert them!

[The Pêche]

@jen - So glad we found something you almost completely like. That's nearly impossible.

@mir - I tried to think of a way to do a gluten- or grain-free version of this. Then I realized that is called "ham and cheese," and there was no real reason to post that as a recipe.

@Shelly - I love your King Solomon approach to this: one half of the baby gets mustard and the other half goes naked. Let us know what you think of the comparison, please.