Turkey Salad Sandwiches

The closing got delayed a week. The seller's title issue -- a minor encumbrance from a 1998 home equity line that had not been properly discharged -- is fixable but is going to take the seller's attorney an extra five business days, and so we are now closing on the 28th instead of the 21st. The realtor called me at work and I received the news the way I receive most delays lately, which is to stand for a second and breathe and think about whether the delay is catastrophic. It is not. It is an inconvenience. I had already arranged a half day off the 21st. I will arrange the 28th instead. Sean took it the same way. We are getting good at the processing of delays. I suppose this is adulthood. I suppose this is marriage. I suppose this is parenting. I do not know which of the three of those is teaching it most.

Colleen is at thirty-nine weeks. Patrick is working half shifts so he can stay close to home. Maureen is driving me up the wall with updates. "She hasn't dropped yet." "She dropped a little." "She's walking more." "She's not walking at all." I tell my mother gently that this is Colleen's body and not a situation requiring my clinical input. My mother says gently that she is not offering it as clinical input, she is offering it as an update to her daughter who is a nurse, and also when exactly did I become unwilling to receive updates from my mother. We argue on the phone for eleven minutes. I hang up. I call her back ten minutes later. This is how the phone call works in our family.

Liam has been asking about the new house. He asks every day. He asks whether his room will be blue. (I had mentioned Red Sox blue once, he retained it.) He asks whether he will get a bed or keep his crib. (He is three and a half and still in a crib because we have not decided to push the change and the new house is the natural moment for it -- he will get a big-boy bed at the new house, this was my plan, which I have now shared with him, and he is excited and also anxious in the specific way of small children who are being told about a transition.) He asks whether Marcus-who-runs-fast will come to the new house. I told him friends can visit. He considered this. He said "okay." He has been processing.

Chicken and dumplings this week because Tuesday brought another six inches and the apartment wanted steam and fat and carbs and long-simmering things. The dumplings were soft, the chicken shredded easy, the broth was the turkey stock I froze in November stretched with some chicken bones I had saved. I made a double batch. We ate for three days. Sean ate half the pot Thursday night after his long school day, standing at the stove in his socks, out of the pot, and I watched him do it and said nothing because some things are sacred.

The clinic is still drowning in Omicron. I worked a twelve on Saturday. I came home and showered and ate toast and sat on the couch with Nora asleep against my chest for forty minutes before I could make myself move.

By the time the dumplings were gone and Friday arrived, I had nothing left in me for anything elaborate — no broth to simmer, no patience for a long cook. What I had was leftover turkey in the freezer and a family that still needed to eat. Turkey salad sandwiches are not glamorous, but they are honest, and after the week we’d had — the closing pushed, Colleen at thirty-nine weeks, a twelve-hour Saturday shift that ended with me on the couch too tired to move — honest was exactly what I needed. This is the recipe I make when I have run out of everything except the will to keep feeding people.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

3 cups cooked turkey, chopped or shredded
1/3 cup mayonnaise
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
2 tablespoons red onion, finely minced
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper, to taste
8 slices sturdy sandwich bread or 4 rolls
Lettuce leaves and sliced tomato, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Combine the base. In a medium bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, and lemon juice until smooth.
Add the turkey and vegetables. Fold in the chopped turkey, celery, and red onion until evenly coated. Season with garlic powder, salt, and black pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Rest briefly. If time allows, cover and refrigerate the salad for 15–20 minutes to let the flavors come together. It can also be served immediately.
Assemble the sandwiches. Divide the turkey salad evenly among four sandwiches. Add lettuce and tomato if desired. Serve on bread or rolls.

Nutrition (per serving)

Turkey Salad Sandwiches — When the Broth Is Gone and You Still Need Something to Hold Onto