In Iowa, the ham ball shows up on more than a few holiday tables during Easter and Christmas. It feels like a recipe that crossed a line and never looked back: minced ham, crackers, and a sticky brown sugar glaze that tastes like it was designed for toast.

It’s sweet in a way that doesn’t negotiate with the salt. It just joins it, which is maybe the most Midwestern part.

I don’t make them (for obvious reasons) but I’m inspired by the clarity. This is Midwestern food logic at its most distilled: abundance turned into tradition, sweetness as a form of insistence, and a complete lack of interest in outside approval.

It’s not trying to be good. It’s trying to be theirs.