Hot Turkey and Stuffing Sandwich

New Year's Eve was at Patrick's, as it almost always is — his apartment in Southie, a crowd of firefighters and their families and the usual Donovan extended-universe guests, Dick Clark's New Rockin' Eve on television with the specific interest of a man who accepts it as part of the social contract. We counted down to 2017 and Sean D. kissed me at midnight and someone in the background was yelling about the Patriots' playoff chances, which is exactly the right soundtrack for a Southie New Year's Eve.

The wedding is now in 2017. The same year I'm currently living in. That sentence arrived on January second and sat in my chest in a way that felt very different from "the wedding is next year." It's happening. We are in the same year as the wedding. This is either thrilling or terrifying and most mornings it's both.

Back to work Monday after a few days off and the floor had that particular January quality — the holidays have ended and everyone's status has to be re-evaluated, and there are difficult conversations that got delayed over Christmas that now have to happen. I do my job. I go home. I eat soup. This is January in oncology.

I made French onion soup this week — caramelized onions for ninety minutes until they were deeply sweet and brown, then good beef broth, bread and Gruyere under the broiler until the cheese bubbled. It's a soup that requires patience and returns it to you tenfold. I ate it Friday night by myself and watched the snow come down on East Broadway and felt, for the first time in 2017, completely fine. The soup helped. It usually does.

The French onion soup gets the glory — and it earned it, ninety minutes of standing over a pan being proof of something — but not every January Friday has that kind of patience left in it. When I need the same feeling in a fraction of the time, this is what I make: a hot turkey and stuffing sandwich, the kind your grandmother would have called supper without apology, gravy pooling into the bread and the whole thing eaten at the kitchen counter while the street outside does whatever it wants. It’s not a recipe that asks anything of you, which is exactly the point.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

4 thick slices sturdy white or sourdough bread, lightly toasted
12 oz roasted turkey breast, sliced (leftover or deli-sliced)
2 cups prepared stuffing, warmed (homemade or store-bought)
1 1/2 cups turkey or chicken gravy, warmed
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup whole-berry cranberry sauce, for serving (optional)
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Warm the turkey. Melt butter in a wide skillet over medium-low heat. Add sliced turkey in a single layer and warm gently, 2—3 minutes per side, until heated through. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Do not let it brown — you want it tender, not dry.
Heat the stuffing. Warm stuffing in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally and adding a splash of broth if it seems too thick. It should be moist and spoonable, not stiff. Keep warm.
Warm the gravy. In a separate small saucepan, heat gravy over medium-low, whisking until smooth and glossy. Taste and adjust seasoning. Keep at a low simmer.
Toast the bread. Toast bread slices until just golden. For an open-faced sandwich, arrange two slices side by side on each plate. For a stacked sandwich, keep slices paired.
Assemble. Spoon a generous layer of stuffing over the toast. Lay turkey slices evenly over the stuffing. Pour gravy liberally over the top, letting it soak into the bread at the edges.
Finish and serve. Add a small spoonful of cranberry sauce on the side if using, and scatter parsley over the top. Serve immediately — this is a hot sandwich in the truest sense, and it waits for no one.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hot Turkey and Stuffing Sandwich — The January Comfort That Carries You Through