A Day After Christmas Sandwich
It's all about comfort food - melting slowly in the calm.
Grilled Bacon, Brie, and Pear Delight
The day after Christmas has a personality all its own.
It wakes up late. It pads around the house in stocking feet. It smells faintly of pine needles, coffee, and yesterday’s sugar. There is no agenda—only leftovers and permission to rest.
By midmorning, the refrigerator door opens and closes more often than it should. Turkey has lost its sparkle. Ham has said all that needs to be said. And that’s when this sandwich makes its quiet entrance—unannounced, unapologetic, perfect for the in-between day.
It begins with bread toasted until it knows who it is—golden, sturdy, just crisp enough to hold its ground. Brie goes on next, soft and yielding, the kind that doesn’t resist heat but welcomes it. Then bacon, still carrying a little Christmas bravado—salty, smoky, proud of the work it’s done all season. Thin slices of pear follow, cool and sweet, a reminder that balance still matters, even now.
When the sandwich hits the pan, time seems to stand still. The cheese melts the way the day does—unhurried, spilling gently over the edges, making a mess you don’t bother to clean up right away. The bacon crackles softly, not loud enough to interrupt the quiet, just enough to remind you that something good is happening.
You cut it in half, and the cheese stretches, refusing to let go, like Christmas itself—lingering, tender, not quite ready to leave. You take the first bite standing at the counter, sunlight slanting in through the window, the house finally still.
This is not a holiday sandwich.
It’s a recovery sandwich.
A sandwich for exhaling.
It tastes like sweet and salty, rich and simple, indulgent but grounded—exactly how the day after Christmas feels. No expectations. No guests arriving. No wrapping paper to step over. Just a quiet moment, a warm plate, and the luxury of nowhere else to be.
By the time you sit down, the cheese has dripped onto the board, the coffee has gone cold, and none of it matters. Because the day after Christmas isn’t about perfection.
It’s about comfort.
And sometimes, comfort looks exactly like a pear, brie, and bacon sandwich—melting slowly into the calm.
Thank you to all who stop by, comment, or read this newsletter. I am grateful to everyone. I have been encouraged by your comments, recipes, and your own stories.
Keep ‘em coming! I’ll see you in the New Year. Love and joy to all.
In the soft days after Christmas,
Love,
𝓟𝓪𝓽 🌿⭐️
See recipe below. Warning: It may be addictive! It’s too delicious to ignore.
