The equinox. Equal light, equal dark. The balance point, again. Last year at this time Paul was in his wheelchair and the ventilator was hissing and I was reading him the Swedish novel about the fisherman's wife and the fisherman's wife was waiting and I was waiting and the equinox was the moment of balance before the tipping.
This year: no wheelchair. No ventilator. No waiting. Just the house and the dog and the kitchen and the balance point of light and dark that tips, today, toward the dark.
I'm not afraid of the dark anymore. I was — in March, in April, the dark of the house without machines felt like the end of everything. But it's September now and I've survived six months of evenings alone and the dark isn't the enemy. The dark is the season. The dark comes and you light candles and you bake bread and you make soup and the dark doesn't win because the kitchen has its own light.
I baked bread on Saturday. The weekly promise. Limpa rye. Paul's bread. My bread. Our bread. The smell of rye and anise in the kitchen at noon and the house breathes it in and the house is the only one breathing now but the house breathes deeply and the bread is good.
I made a fall dinner: pannbiff — the Swedish beef patties, fried in butter, with cream gravy and fried onions. The comfort food of October. The food that says: the dark is here. The stove is warm. The patties are sizzling. Eat.
I ate at the table. Two places still set. I don't question this anymore. The second place is part of the table the way the fourth leg is part of a chair. Remove it and the thing falls over.
Elsa came on Sunday. She brought a pumpkin from the farm stand at Jay Cooke. She carved it — badly, with a ranger's knife rather than a pumpkin-carving tool, the face lopsided and fierce — and put it on the porch step. The pumpkin grinned (or grimaced) at the street and Sven barked at it once and then ignored it, having determined it was neither food nor threat.
October is coming. The dark is tipping. The pumpkin is on the step. The bread is in the oven.
I'm not afraid.
Pannbiff is what I made that evening—the classic Swedish patties, fried in butter until the edges go dark and the cream gravy pools around them in the pan—but this lighter ground chicken version has become my weeknight answer when I want that same settling, that same warmth, without quite so much weight. The technique is the same: butter, a hot pan, fried onions, a splash of cream. The stove does what stoves do. The kitchen fills up. The dark stays outside where it belongs.
Ground Chicken Burgers
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 lb ground chicken
- 1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
- 1 large egg, lightly beaten
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 1/2 cup chicken broth
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving
Instructions
- Mix the patties. In a large bowl, combine ground chicken, breadcrumbs, egg, garlic, onion powder, thyme, salt, and pepper. Mix gently until just combined—do not overwork. Form into 4 equal oval patties, about 3/4 inch thick.
- Fry the onions. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add sliced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and golden, about 8–10 minutes. Remove onions to a plate and set aside.
- Cook the patties. In the same skillet over medium-high heat, add the patties. Cook without moving for 5–6 minutes until a dark golden crust forms on the bottom. Flip carefully and cook another 5–6 minutes until cooked through (internal temperature 165°F).
- Make the cream gravy. Reduce heat to medium-low. Return the onions to the pan around the patties. Pour in the chicken broth and stir up any browned bits from the pan. Add the heavy cream and Dijon mustard. Simmer 3–4 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly and coats the back of a spoon.
- Serve. Plate the patties with onions and cream gravy spooned over the top. Scatter fresh parsley over everything. Serve with boiled potatoes, rye bread, or whatever the kitchen offers.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 340 | Protein: 27g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 9g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 236 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.