LIFE GOES ON, and I write about food. It feels a little strange, after the outpouring of charity on the Helping Haiti post (and with haunting images of earthquake rubble still in my mind), to return to a celebratory meal, and yet . . . It’s also true that the best thing to do—once you’ve paused to acknowledge tragedy and to help in whatever way you’re able—is sometimes simply to carry on with your life. To separate yourself from the rawness of someone else’s (or even a nation’s) devastation, because this is what it means to live in the world: there is always joy somewhere, in the same moment as there are tears. There is always something being created, while something else is brought down. What good am I at performing the immediate tasks required of me (caring for my son, feeding my family) if I let myself go catatonic in response to all the bad news out there?

So I return to the food. To my father’s birthday lunch, which seems like it happened a long time ago now, despite the fact that it was just last week. As you know if you read my cornbread post, the meal planning started there. I’m not sure what exactly compelled me to move on to quiche, eventually creating this recipe, but I’m glad that I did. I think it was some lovely leeks I found at the Union Square Greenmarket. They were winking at me in the winter sunlight.

Now usually, I do not make quiche; it’s my husband’s domain. He is French, après tout, and he has his mother’s recipe, and he’s been making darn good quiches for years. A bit traditional—you know, ham and cheese, Lorraine-style—but so good that he would get regular requests for them from the staff at my son’s preschool. For years, my husband fed them all quiche. His quiches have accompanied us on countless picnics and camping trips, too. I remember eating miniature ones in the sunshine on the peak of Slide Mountain in the Catskills, one weekend before my son was born and right after 9/11. They were the ultimate comfort food then.

Anyway, I had the leeks. I had some feta in the fridge, too, because—well, because I always have feta in the fridge. Leeks, cheese . . . and I remembered that one of the first cookbooks my parents ever gave me was a collection of classic French country home cooking recipes. I had the book in college, and it was that book that introduced me to leeks via a “Flamiche” or “Tarte aux poireaux” recipe (yes, I know this is Belgian in origin, but it was in the book). Until that recipe, I had no idea leeks even existed. I got to thinking about that tart and about leeks and about how maybe I could make inroads to my husband’s territory, carve out a little space for myself in there, too. After all, how far removed is quiche from a pita—that excellent phyllo-wrapped “pie” that Greeks know how to make so well, adapting it according to whatever ingredients are available. I took the base from my mother-in-law’s recipe and let it rip.

What resulted is pretty delicious, if I may say so, and it truly feels like mine: a mish-mash of ethnicities that come together, somehow, into something new and worthy. For my father’s birthday meal, I made individual quiches instead of one large one, and I served it with a salad of wild arugula on the side. I’m happy to say that the guest of honor enjoyed every bite. I hope you will, too.

Postscript: The ultimate triumph came when I made the recipe again as a bon voyage meal, the day my husband was set to leave on a business trip to France. Although he does not usually like messing with tradition, he had a generous second helping of this quiche and pronounced it “bonne.” From a Frenchman, what more do you need?

Leek, Lemon & Feta Quiche . . . with Ouzo

While a leek quiche seems indisputably French, this recipe brings a Hellenic “Opa!” to your table with the addition of lemon, feta, and a hint of ouzo, the classic Greek aperitif. The ouzo is optional, but highly recommended. In a small dose, it brings a subtle sweet anise flavor that balances the sharp saltiness of the feta. With a fresh grating of lemon zest to brighten everything up, this quiche becomes light and cheerful, not at all heavy as some quiches can be. It’s perfect for a casual celebration meal, a Sunday brunch, or lunch to go. If you’re cooking just for one, make individual-size quiches and freeze some for later; you’ll be glad to have them on hand.

Yield: 1 large quiche, or 4 individual-size quiches

Ingredients:

1 sheet frozen puff pastry

1 pound leeks

2 Tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 cup half-and-half

3 eggs

1 teaspoon freshly grated lemon zest

1 teaspoon kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

2 teaspoons ouzo (optional)

2-1/2 ounces feta cheese, cut into 4 (approx 1/2-inch) slices

Method:

Preheat oven to 375F. Thaw puff pastry according to package directions.

Prepare the leeks. Rise off any visible dirt and slice the roots from the end. Remove the dark green tops, leaving a couple inches of light green with the white portion of the leeks. (The dark trimmings can be reserved for another use, adding them to a vegetable or chicken stock, for example.) Halve the leeks lengthwise, then cut crosswise in 1/2-inch slices. Dump the slices in a colander or salad spinner and rinse thoroughly; if you don’t, you risk having a gritty, sandy quiche, as leeks often hide dirt deep in their layers. Let the leeks drain well, or spin dry.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the leeks and cook until they are wilted; don’t cook them so much that they give off liquid. Turn off the heat and let sit.

In a mixing bowl or large measuring cup, using a whisk or fork, beat together the half-and-half, eggs, lemon zest, salt and pepper. Add the ouzo, if using.

Prepare the pastry crusts. On a lightly floured surface, or between two layers of plastic wrap or parchment paper, roll out the thawed puff pastry to a thickness of about 1/4 inch. Line a shallow pie plate or cut the pastry into four circles to fill individual baking dishes. Press the pastry up the sides to make a nice edge.

Fill the quiches. Distribute the leeks evenly across the bottom of the dish(es). Pour the milk mixture over the leeks. Top the quiche(s) with the slices of feta. (If you have feta that crumbles apart, don’t worry, just sprinkle it on top.)

Bake 30-40 minutes, depending on size of the quiche(s). The center should be solid and the crust and top nicely browned. Let the quiche cool for at least 10 minutes before serving. The quiches taste great hot, room temperature, even cold.

Enjoy with:

A simple green salad and a glass of chilled assyrtiko from award-winning Domaine Sigalas in Santorini, Greece.

Variation:

Omnivores may want to dice 1 package of Canadian bacon (about 8 slices) and add it to the quiche at the same time as the sauteed leeks. I’ve tried it this way, too, and it’s just as nice.

SMOKED AND CURED ingredients have historically meant preservation during long, harsh winters, while the hearty bulk of whole-grain bread provides lasting energy to get through the day. Here, smoked Dutch gouda and air-dried prosciutto lend depth to a grilled sandwich that’s kissed by the surprising sweet heat of plum chutney. Held between slices of seeded rye with a caramelized onion crust, the smooth, creamy cheese gets a textural boost from a final sprinkling of crispy onion, a popular and versatile garnish for Scandinavian street food. As the days shorten and the cold sets in, with this smoky-sweet sandwich in my repertoire, I’m ready. Something tells me, though, I’ll be making these past the thaw. I hope you will, too.

“Sweet Heat” Grilled Prosciutto and Smoked Gouda Sandwich

Yield: 1 sandwich

Ingredients:

2 slices onion rye bread, or, if you must, substitute ordinary seeded rye

1 pat of butter, room temperature for easier spreading

1 teaspoon spicy plum chutney*

1/2 cup finely grated smoked gouda

2 slices prosciutto

1 Tablespoon all-natural crispy onions*

Method:

Select a skillet large enough to hold the two slices of rye side by side in the flat bottom of the pan. Ideally, you will also have a domed lid that fits the pan and will not touch the sandwiches as they cook. Preheat the dry skillet over medium heat.

Spread a thin layer of butter onto one side of each bread slice, then place the slices butter-side down in the skillet. (If you are concerned about a messy pan, you can prepare the bread slices on a cutting board or countertop, then transfer them to the skillet later.) Layer ingredients in the following way: on one slice of bread, spread the chutney and top with a third of the cheese; on the same slice, lay down the prosciutto and sprinkle on another third of cheese. Sprinkle the remaining cheese on the second bread slice.

Turn heat down to medium-low and place the lid over the skillet. Cook the sandwiches until the cheese appears evenly melted, 3-4 minutes depending on the thickness of your bread. Remove the lid and sprinkle the crispy onions on the slice with the prosciutto. Flip the second, cheese-only slice of bread on top and press down to seal the sandwich. Dial the heat back up to medium and grill another half minute or so on each side, pressing down on the sandwich. The bread should be golden brown on each side. Remove to a cutting board and let rest for 1 minute, then slice in half using a serrated bread knife.

Serve With:

Thick-cut, oven-baked fries or vegetable slaw. Pair with a glass of merlot. Recommended: 2004 Reserve Merlot from Lieb Family Cellars (North Fork, Long Island), with its plum, black cherry, and cedar palate.

(*) A Note on Ingredients:

For this sandwich, I used the excellent “Spicy Plum Chutney” from The Virginia Chutney Co. It’s well worth the effort of ordering: http://www.virginiachutney.com, at least until I figure out how to make my own from scratch and post the recipe here. As for the onions, look for Lars’ Own, the all-natural, imported crispy onions that I found at Whole Foods. They are deeply golden with a pleasant crunch, are crumbled in nice-sized bits, and have an appropriate onion-y (not just fried) flavor. If you can’t find them in your favorite specialty food store, you can order them directly: http://www.larsown.com. (Lars’ Own is a Dutch company specializing in traditional Scandinavian and Northern European foods.) I suppose you could also test-drive the sandwich with French’s brand fried onions, but to date I haven’t attempted this—in part because I am not a fan of buying products whose ingredients unnecessarily contain the suffix -ose.