Homemade Stovetop Stuffing

The book has reached a turning point — I've written six chapters about the past (Sylvia, Irving, the Bronx, the food, the recipes, the chain) and now I need to write about the present: Marvin. The chapter about Marvin. The chapter I have been avoiding, circling, approaching and retreating from, because the writing about Marvin requires the writing about loss, and the writing about loss requires the feeling of loss, and the feeling of loss is the thing I manage every day with structure and food and visits, and the writing about it threatens to dismantle the structure and leave me standing in the wreckage of my own emotions with nothing between me and the grief but a pen and a blank page.

I started the chapter on Monday. I wrote: "Marvin Feldman was the funniest man I ever met, and the funniest thing about him is that he doesn't remember being funny." The sentence arrived and I looked at it and I knew: this is the chapter. This is the voice. This is the sentence that opens the door to the room where the grief lives, and the room is dark, and the writing is the flashlight, and I am going in.

I wrote for four hours. Not the usual two. Four hours of Marvin: the first date, the fortune cookie, the blue tie, the accounting practice, the humor, the steadiness, the diagnosis, the decline, the facility, the visits, the food. I wrote until my hand ached and my eyes blurred and the kitchen table was covered in pages and the pages were covered in Marvin and the Marvin on the pages was more complete than the Marvin in the recliner, because the Marvin on the pages had all his memories, all his jokes, all his words, and the writing preserved them, and the preserving was the love, and the love was the chapter, and the chapter was the hardest thing I have ever written, harder than the brisket essay, harder than the matzo ball chapter, harder than anything, because this chapter is the one that bleeds.

I brought Marvin soup. I sat beside him. I said nothing about the chapter. I held his hand. He held mine back. The holding was the language. The language was sufficient.

After four hours of writing Marvin back into himself — his jokes, his blue tie, his steadiness — I needed to do something with my hands that wasn’t holding a pen. I needed to cook something warm, something that filled the kitchen with smell and sound, something that said “I am still here and I am taking care.” This stovetop stuffing is what I made: humble, savory, built from things already in the pantry, the kind of dish that doesn’t ask anything of you except attention. I brought some to Marvin the next day alongside the soup. He ate it slowly. That was enough.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

8 cups day-old white or sourdough bread, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 1 lb loaf)
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, finely diced
3 stalks celery, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 3/4 cups low-sodium chicken broth, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried sage
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Instructions

Toast the bread. Spread the bread cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake at 300°F for 15–20 minutes, stirring once, until dry and lightly golden. Alternatively, leave cubed bread uncovered overnight to dry out. Set aside.
Sauté the aromatics. Melt butter in a large skillet or wide saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, for 7–8 minutes until softened and translucent. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add herbs. Stir in the thyme, sage, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Cook for 30 seconds, letting the herbs bloom in the butter.
Combine with bread. Add the toasted bread cubes to the skillet and stir gently to coat them in the butter and herb mixture.
Add broth. Pour the chicken broth over the bread gradually, stirring after each addition. The bread should be moist throughout but not soggy or pooling with liquid. Add a splash more broth if needed.
Steam and finish. Reduce heat to low, cover the skillet, and cook for 5–8 minutes until heated through and the flavors have melded. Remove lid, stir gently, and taste for seasoning.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and top with fresh chopped parsley. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Homemade Stovetop Stuffing — The Food I Make When Words Are Not Enough