Let me tell you somethin’ about stuffing.
People think it’s just bread and mush.
Not in our house. Stuffing was a production.
It wasn’t a side dish — it was a move.
First thing, you don’t rush it.
You take your bread — good bread, not that sponge they sell in bags — olive oil , salt,
and you toast the cubes for 30 minutes.
Because soft bread soaks, but dry bread works.
It knows its job.
Then comes the butter.
And don’t act like you’re on a budget.
This is Thanksgiving — you go heavy.
You melt it slow, and when it starts singin’,
you throw in the onions and celery —
real gentle, like you’re talkin’ them into bein’ sweet.
Sage hits the pan, and now the whole place smells like Sunday.
Thyme, too.
Pepper — enough to remind you who’s in charge.
Salt? Naturally.
Now the sausage.
Not the cheap stuff either — you want the one that snaps back
when you press it, like it’s still alive.
Brown it.
Let it talk.
Take the toasted cubed bread, throw it in a big bowl. Beat it like a deadbeat, 1 egg to every 2 slices bread. Pour over the bread, like your pouring cement over a nobody. Mix then
pour the whole situation in the pan over it — sizzling hot.
Broth next, little by little. Turkey broth not that chicken broth, and not the low sodium broth either, you medigan.
Not soggy.
Not dry.
It should hold together
like it’s got secrets.
You mix it with your hands.
Always the hands.
Spoons lie.
Hands don’t.
Stuff the bird or bake it on the side.
Either way, you cover it up and let it go low and slow
until the top gets that golden crust
that makes people stop talkin’.
When you take it out?
Nobody touches it yet.
You let it rest —
like a good guy after a long weekend.
And when they finally eat…
They don’t say much.
They don’t have to.
People think it’s just bread and mush.
Not in our house. Stuffing was a production.
It wasn’t a side dish — it was a move.
First thing, you don’t rush it.
You take your bread — good bread, not that sponge they sell in bags — olive oil , salt,
and you toast the cubes for 30 minutes.
Because soft bread soaks, but dry bread works.
It knows its job.
Then comes the butter.
And don’t act like you’re on a budget.
This is Thanksgiving — you go heavy.
You melt it slow, and when it starts singin’,
you throw in the onions and celery —
real gentle, like you’re talkin’ them into bein’ sweet.
Sage hits the pan, and now the whole place smells like Sunday.
Thyme, too.
Pepper — enough to remind you who’s in charge.
Salt? Naturally.
Now the sausage.
Not the cheap stuff either — you want the one that snaps back
when you press it, like it’s still alive.
Brown it.
Let it talk.
Take the toasted cubed bread, throw it in a big bowl. Beat it like a deadbeat, 1 egg to every 2 slices bread. Pour over the bread, like your pouring cement over a nobody. Mix then
pour the whole situation in the pan over it — sizzling hot.
Broth next, little by little. Turkey broth not that chicken broth, and not the low sodium broth either, you medigan.
Not soggy.
Not dry.
It should hold together
like it’s got secrets.
You mix it with your hands.Always the hands.
Spoons lie.
Hands don’t.
Stuff the bird or bake it on the side.
Either way, you cover it up and let it go low and slow
until the top gets that golden crust
that makes people stop talkin’.
When you take it out?
Nobody touches it yet.
You let it rest —
like a good guy after a long weekend.
And when they finally eat…
They don’t say much.
They don’t have to.
