Cheesy Sausage Balls

Friday we drove to Yellowstone. All four of us — Linda and Margaret in the back seat, Patrick in the front with the window down, which he prefers even when it means his hair looks like something the wind left behind. It's a four-hour drive through country that keeps getting more interesting the farther south you go, and we spent most of it talking about everything except the destination.

Patrick hasn't been to Yellowstone in twelve years. He stood at the rim of the Grand Prismatic Spring for a long time, hands in his pockets, saying nothing. Margaret took photographs. Linda stood beside me at the upper overlook where you can see the full color spectrum of the hot spring from above — that impossible progression from deep blue at the center to orange and rust at the edges — and she was quiet for a while, and then she said: "Ryan, I'm all right."

I understood exactly what she meant. Not "I'm fine" in the way people say it when they're deflecting, and not "I'm healed" in the way that implies something finished. She meant: I am all right. I am a person who has moved through something terrible and come out on the other side still intact, still able to stand at the edge of something this beautiful and feel it. That's not the absence of grief; it's grief having done its work and left room for something else.

I told her I believed her. She nodded and we didn't say anything else about it.

We drove home in the early evening with the windows down and the mountains changing color and Patrick asleep in the front seat, which is something he does now on long drives and which I try not to read as anything other than what it is: an old man tired from a good day. Margaret asked me about the book on the way home — she'd read an early chapter on Linda's laptop — and said it felt honest. That's the word she used. Honest. From a sixteen-year-old with a good eye, that's more than I needed to hear.

Campfire food at a picnic area in the afternoon: hot dogs on sticks, chips, store-bought cookies. Sometimes the occasion is the meal.

We didn’t plan an elaborate meal for that afternoon at the picnic area — nobody wanted to. What we wanted was something warm and easy and shareable, the kind of food that doesn’t ask anything of you. These cheesy sausage balls are what I make when I want people to feel comfortable rather than impressed, and after a day of standing at the edge of something as enormous and humbling as the Grand Prismatic Spring, comfortable was exactly right. Linda grabbed two off the tray and didn’t say a word, and that was enough.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 8 (about 36 balls)

Ingredients

1 lb ground pork breakfast sausage (mild or hot)
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1 1/2 cups biscuit mix (such as Bisquick)
1/4 cup whole milk
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper or lightly grease it.
Combine ingredients. In a large bowl, combine the raw sausage, shredded cheddar, biscuit mix, milk, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Mix with your hands until everything is fully incorporated — don’t overmix, but make sure there are no dry pockets of biscuit mix.
Shape the balls. Roll the mixture into balls about 1 1/4 inches in diameter (roughly the size of a golf ball) and place them 1 inch apart on the prepared baking sheet. You should get about 36 balls.
Bake. Bake for 22—25 minutes, until the sausage balls are golden brown on the outside and cooked through. An instant-read thermometer inserted into the center should read 165°F.
Rest and serve. Let cool on the pan for 5 minutes before serving. These travel well in a covered container and are just as good warm as they are at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cheesy Sausage Balls — When the Occasion Is the Meal