Arugula and Cremini Quiche with Gluten-Free Almond Meal Crust

James had his first week at the bookstore, and he came home each evening with recommendations — novels, histories, a poetry collection by Ross Gay that he said made him think about joy in a way he hadn't before. I read the Gay collection over the weekend, and James was right: it is a book about finding delight in small things, which is a skill I have been practicing my entire life without knowing it had a name. At the library, I shelve delight between the covers of children's picture books. At home, I find it in the steam rising from a pot of grits, in the sound of Robert's key in the door, in the particular way Carrie tilts her head when she's thinking.

Robert and I skipped Dr. Ellis this week — she was on vacation — and the Thursday without therapy felt strange, like a day with a missing tooth. We are so accustomed to the rhythm of the sessions that their absence creates its own kind of awareness. We ate dinner and talked about the children and the news, and at one point Robert said, "This is what Thursday would feel like if we were normal," and I said, "We are normal. Normal people go to therapy. Normal people have survived things." He looked at me and I could see him deciding whether to say something. He didn't say it. I didn't ask. We are learning that some silences are productive.

Mama called on Wednesday to tell me that Joy had won a prize at the group activity program — a certificate for "Best Listener," which is the most Joy prize imaginable. Joy listens with her whole body — she leans in, she nods, she makes sounds of agreement or surprise that are entirely genuine because Joy does not have the capacity for pretense. It is one of the things the accident took — the ability to fake — and one of the things it gave, which is a transparency of emotion that I sometimes envy. Joy is never performing. She is always, simply, being.

I made buttermilk biscuits on Sunday morning. This is a ritual: Sunday, biscuits, the kitchen warm from the oven, the smell that is the closest thing to a time machine I will ever own. Mama's buttermilk biscuits are the standard against which all biscuits are measured, and they are measured by the rise — tall, flaky, golden on top, tender inside. The secret, Mama says, is cold butter and hot oven and hands that move fast enough to keep the dough from warming up but gentle enough not to overwork it. It is, when you think about it, a metaphor for everything: speed and gentleness, precision and letting go. I am getting better at the biscuits. I am getting better at the metaphor.

Carrie asked me this week what I wanted to be when I grew up. She meant it seriously — the way thirteen-year-olds ask serious questions disguised as casual ones. I told her I wanted to be a writer. She said, "But you're a librarian." I said, "I know. I took a detour." She looked at me with something I couldn't identify — sympathy, maybe, or recognition — and said, "Detours can be good." She is thirteen and already wiser than I was at thirty.

The biscuits came out well this week — tall enough, flaky enough, Mama’s standard mostly met — and afterward, flour still on my hands, I started thinking about other things we bake not because we have to but because the act of baking itself does something for us. This quiche has become part of that same Sunday language in our house: the oven warming the kitchen, the smell settling into the corners of the morning before anyone has said much of anything. It is a recipe that asks you to slow down and be present, which is, I have come to believe, the whole point of Sunday.

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

Ingredients

For the crust:
1 1/2 cups blanched almond meal
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 large egg
2 tablespoons olive oil
For the filling:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium shallot, thinly sliced
8 ounces cremini mushrooms, sliced
2 cups baby arugula, loosely packed
4 large eggs
3/4 cup whole milk or unsweetened non-dairy milk
1/2 cup shredded Gruyère or sharp white cheddar
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9-inch pie dish with olive oil or non-stick spray.
Make the crust. In a medium bowl, stir together the almond meal, salt, and garlic powder. Add the egg and olive oil and mix until a cohesive dough forms. Press the dough evenly across the bottom and up the sides of the prepared pie dish, keeping it about 1/4 inch thick throughout.
Blind-bake the crust. Bake the crust for 10 to 12 minutes, until lightly golden and just set. Remove from the oven and set aside while you prepare the filling.
Cook the vegetables. In a skillet over medium heat, warm the olive oil. Add the shallot and cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 to 3 minutes until softened. Add the mushrooms and cook for 5 to 6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they release their moisture and begin to brown. Stir in the arugula and cook just until wilted, about 1 minute. Remove from heat.
Make the egg mixture. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, cheese, salt, pepper, and nutmeg until smooth and well combined.
Assemble. Spread the sautéed vegetables evenly across the pre-baked crust. Pour the egg mixture slowly over the top, allowing it to settle into the vegetables.
Bake. Return the quiche to the oven and bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until the center is just set and no longer jiggles when gently shaken. The top should be lightly golden.
Rest and serve. Allow the quiche to cool for at least 10 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature. Leftovers keep well refrigerated for up to 3 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Arugula and Cremini Quiche with Gluten-Free Almond Meal Crust — When the Oven Is the Whole Point