Stuffing Muffins

Thanksgiving. Pandemic Thanksgiving. Seven people at the table — me, Dave, Amber, Tyler, Justin, Josie, Gayle. The turkey was twenty pounds and I was up at 5 a.m. and the turkey was in the oven by 6 and the rest — the mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the green bean casserole, the rolls, the gravy — followed in the choreography I have been performing for years, the dance of a woman alone in a kitchen at dawn making a meal that says: we are alive, we are together, this table is set.

Gayle arrived at noon. She took off her mask when she sat down and looked around the table and said, 'Everybody's here.' She said it like a statement and like a question and like a prayer, all three, because everybody being here in 2020 is not guaranteed, is not assumed, is the thing we do not say out loud because saying it acknowledges the possibility that somebody might not be, and the not-being is the thing we are all working against.

Justin said grace. The same grace — 'Thank you for the food, thank you for this family, amen.' Twelve words. But this year the twelve words carried more weight because this year the 'thank you for this family' meant 'thank you that this family is still here,' and the 'still here' was the sermon, and the twelve words were enough to hold it.

Josie ate seven rolls. I counted. Seven rolls is excessive and impressive and I did not stop her because Thanksgiving is not a day for portion control, Thanksgiving is a day for the body to eat what the soul needs, and Josie's soul needed seven rolls. Tyler ate enough mashed potatoes to fill a bucket. Amber ate everything slowly, tasting, savoring, the way Amber does — with attention, with presence, with the awareness that every meal is a gift. Justin ate like Justin — steadily, quietly, completely.

After dinner, Dave and I did the dishes. The tradition. The silence. The kitchen full of steam and gratitude and the sound of water and the absence of words. Gayle fell asleep in the recliner. The kids scattered. The house was quiet except for the dishwater and the breathing and the somewhere of a world outside that was still spinning, still sick, still uncertain, and inside: clean plates, full bellies, a grandmother asleep in a chair, and the smell of pie.

That stuffing — the one I made at dawn while the rest of the house was still dark and quiet — is the dish I come back to every year as the one that makes the kitchen smell like it’s supposed to. After 2020, I started making it as stuffing muffins: individual portions, each one with its own crisp edges, because something about that year made me want every person at the table to have something whole and their own. It felt right. It still does.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 12 muffins

Ingredients

6 cups day-old bread, cut into 1/2-inch cubes and lightly toasted
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 cup celery, finely diced (about 3 stalks)
1 cup yellow onion, finely diced (about 1 medium onion)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons dried sage
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crumbled
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 1/2 cups chicken or turkey broth, warmed
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Generously grease a standard 12-cup muffin tin with butter or non-stick spray and set aside.
Sauté the aromatics. Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the celery and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic, sage, thyme, rosemary, salt, and pepper and cook 1 minute more until fragrant. Remove from heat.
Combine the stuffing. In a large bowl, toss the toasted bread cubes with the sautéed vegetable mixture until well coated. Pour the warm broth over the top and stir gently to moisten. Let stand 5 minutes so the bread absorbs the liquid. Add the beaten eggs and parsley (if using) and stir to combine. The mixture should hold together when pressed but not be soggy.
Fill the muffin tin. Divide the stuffing mixture evenly among the prepared muffin cups, pressing firmly and mounding the tops slightly. Each cup should be generously filled.
Bake. Bake for 22 to 25 minutes, until the tops are deep golden brown and the edges are crisp. Let the muffins rest in the tin for 5 minutes before running a thin knife around the edges to release them.
Serve. Transfer to a serving platter. Serve warm alongside turkey and gravy. Leftovers reheat well in a 350°F oven for 10 minutes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Stuffing Muffins — The Dance of a Woman Alone in a Kitchen at Dawn