🥘 Ingredients
- Whole wheat pastry flour (or whole wheat flour) 2 cups (260 g)
- All-purpose flour (optional, for slightly lighter crust) 1/4 cup (30 g) — optional
- Fine sea salt 1 tsp (5 g)
- Granulated sugar 1 tsp (optional, 4 g)
- Cold unsalted butter 8 tbsp / 1 stick (113 g), cubed
- Ice water 4–6 tbsp (60–90 ml), plus a little extra if needed
- Thinly sliced salami 8 oz (225 g) — prefer a flavorful Italian salami (soppressata or Milano)
- Yellow or sweet onions 2 large (about 500 g), thinly sliced
- Extra-virgin olive oil 2 tbsp (30 ml)
- Unsalted butter 1 tbsp (14 g) for caramelizing onions
- Balsamic vinegar 1 tbsp (15 ml) for cooking onions
- Taleggio or Fontina cheese 7 oz (200 g), torn or sliced thin
- Fresh thyme leaves 1 tsp, plus extra sprigs for garnish
- Whole milk (or light cream) 1 tbsp for glazing (optional; or use olive oil for vegan wash)
- Coarse sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
- Honey 1 tbsp (15 ml)
- Balsamic vinegar 1 tbsp (15 ml) (for drizzle reduction)
- Arugula 2 cups (60 g) for serving
- Fresh lemon juice 1 tbsp (15 ml) for arugula dressing
- Dijon mustard 1/2 tsp (2.5 g) for arugula dressing
- Extra-virgin olive oil 2 tbsp (30 ml) for arugula dressing
- Toasted chopped walnuts 1/4 cup (30 g) — optional for crunch and garnish
- Cracked black pepper, to finish
⚠️ Allergen Information
- Gluten (wheat)
- Milk / Dairy (butter, cheese, milk)
- Pork (salami)
- Tree nuts (walnuts - optional)
- Mustard (Dijon in dressing)
- Sulfites (may be present in cured salami)
👨🍳 Instructions
- Make the whole-wheat galette dough: In a large bowl, whisk together whole wheat pastry flour, optional all-purpose flour, salt, and sugar. Add the cold cubed butter and, using a pastry cutter or your fingertips, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal with some pea-sized pieces of butter remaining. Sprinkle 4 tablespoons ice water over the mixture and gently stir with a fork until dough begins to come together. Add up to 2 more tablespoons of ice water if the dough is too dry. Gather dough into a disk, wrap tightly in plastic wrap, and chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes while you prepare the filling.
- Caramelize the onions: Place a wide skillet over medium heat and add 1 tbsp butter and 1 tbsp olive oil. When the butter foams, add the sliced onions and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, lowering heat slightly if the onions start to brown too quickly. After 15–20 minutes the onions should be soft and beginning to color; add 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar to deglaze and continue cooking for another 8–12 minutes until deeply golden and sweet. Taste and season with a little salt and pepper. Remove from heat and let cool to warm (not hot).
- Prepare the salami and cheese: While the onions caramelize, arrange the thinly sliced salami into a single layer on a plate to make it easy to grab. Tear the Taleggio or Fontina into small pieces and keep handy.
- Preheat the oven and roll out dough: Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. On a lightly floured surface (use whole wheat or all-purpose flour), roll the chilled dough into a roughly 12-inch (30 cm) circle about 1/8–1/4 inch (3–6 mm) thick. Transfer the dough to the prepared parchment paper by rolling it loosely around the rolling pin and unrolling it onto the sheet.
- Assemble the galette: Leave a 1½–2 inch (4–5 cm) border around the dough. Spread the cooled caramelized onions evenly over the center, leaving the border clear. Layer the salami pieces on top of the onions, slightly overlapping. Scatter the torn cheese evenly over the salami. Sprinkle the fresh thyme leaves over the cheese and add a few cracks of black pepper. Fold the dough border up over the filling in pleats, pressing gently to hold; the center will remain open.
- Glaze and optional crisping: Brush the folded crust with 1 tbsp whole milk (or a little olive oil if you prefer no extra dairy) to encourage golden color. If you like the salami edges crispier, slide the assembled galette under the broiler for 1–2 minutes near the end of baking—watch closely.
- Bake the galette: Bake at 425°F (220°C) for 25–30 minutes until the crust is golden brown and the cheese is melted and bubbling. If cheese browns too quickly, tent the galette loosely with foil. Remove from oven and let rest 8–10 minutes so the filling sets slightly.
- Make the honey-balsamic drizzle: While the galette rests, combine 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar and 1 tbsp honey in a small saucepan. Warm over low heat and simmer gently for 2–3 minutes until slightly syrupy. Alternatively, whisk together the honey and balsamic if you prefer no reduction. Set aside to cool slightly.
- Prepare the arugula salad: In a small bowl, whisk together lemon juice, Dijon mustard, a pinch of salt and pepper, and 2 tbsp olive oil until emulsified. Toss the arugula with the dressing and, if using, sprinkle with toasted chopped walnuts for crunch.
- Finish and serve: Slide the galette onto a cutting board, drizzle the honey-balsamic over the open center and edges for a glossy, sweet-tangy finish. Scatter a few fresh thyme leaves and cracked black pepper. Serve slices with a handful of dressed arugula on the side. Garnish with additional walnuts if desired.
- Make-ahead and reheating tips: The dough can be made and chilled up to 48 hours ahead (keep wrapped). Caramelized onions keep refrigerated up to 5 days and intensify in flavor. Reheat slices in a 375°F (190°C) oven for 8–10 minutes to crisp the crust; avoid the microwave to prevent sogginess.
📖 Backstory
They say that every great recipe begins with a quarrel, and my relationship with the "Slice, Slice, Salami" galette began with a diplomatic incident at a farmers' market. I had been arguing—very politely—about the proper role of whole wheat pastry flour in rustic pastry when an elderly vendor tossed me a paper bag of perfectly cubed, suspiciously cold butter and a conspiratorial wink. That night I dreamt of a crust that could hold up to the sins of bold Italian salami and the sweet treachery of caramelized shallots, and when I woke I scribbled the first awkward sketch of a galette on the back of a grocery receipt. The rest, as my neighbor’s dubious cat insists, is pastry history.
If you ask my friends, I didn’t so much make this galette as I wrestled it into existence. There were late-night meetings with salt and sugar—one was pragmatic, the other was dramatic—followed by a formal negotiation between two flours: the rustic, honest whole wheat and the dashing, optional all-purpose who only shows up for slightly lighter reputations. I can’t pretend it was purely science; a certain amount of performative flour dusting and solemn cubed-butter ceremony was required. Once the salami arrived, toasted and glossy with caramel and balsamic, it was like a Shakespearean comeback line finally landing—every slice deserving of a standing ovation from even the most stoic of lunchboxes.
Over the years this humble regional sensation (I prefer to call it a revolution in hand-held humility) has done small, respectable things: it has calmed toddlers mid-tantrum, convinced a skeptical dietitian to crack a smile, and been used as a peace offering in three gentle domestic disputes. I present it without fanfare but with the quiet smugness of someone who has watched flour and butter reconcile their differences and produce something that sings in C major. If you slice it wrong, the galette will forgive you; if you slice it right, neighbors may start referring to your kitchen as "the place where promises become crumbs."
If you ask my friends, I didn’t so much make this galette as I wrestled it into existence. There were late-night meetings with salt and sugar—one was pragmatic, the other was dramatic—followed by a formal negotiation between two flours: the rustic, honest whole wheat and the dashing, optional all-purpose who only shows up for slightly lighter reputations. I can’t pretend it was purely science; a certain amount of performative flour dusting and solemn cubed-butter ceremony was required. Once the salami arrived, toasted and glossy with caramel and balsamic, it was like a Shakespearean comeback line finally landing—every slice deserving of a standing ovation from even the most stoic of lunchboxes.
Over the years this humble regional sensation (I prefer to call it a revolution in hand-held humility) has done small, respectable things: it has calmed toddlers mid-tantrum, convinced a skeptical dietitian to crack a smile, and been used as a peace offering in three gentle domestic disputes. I present it without fanfare but with the quiet smugness of someone who has watched flour and butter reconcile their differences and produce something that sings in C major. If you slice it wrong, the galette will forgive you; if you slice it right, neighbors may start referring to your kitchen as "the place where promises become crumbs."