How To Make Homemade Croutons

The builder took me to lunch on Tuesday, which is never good. When your boss buys you a hamburger it means one of two things: he's giving you a raise or he's building up to something he doesn't want to say on a job site. It was not a raise. He said he valued me — that word, valued, like I'm a piece of equipment he's appraising — and said he needed to know if I could keep going through winter. I said I could. He nodded the way people nod when they don't believe you but aren't ready to argue. I ate the hamburger and it sat in my stomach like a stone.

Told Connie about it that night. She put her fork down, which is Connie's version of a dramatic gesture. She said Craig, what happens when they let you go? I said they're not going to let me go. She said what happens when your back lets you go? I didn't have an answer for that. She picked her fork back up and finished her supper and that was the end of it, except it wasn't, because the question is living in the house now like a third person sitting at every meal.

Thanksgiving is next week and I've been thinking about the dressing. Betty's cornbread dressing — cornbread crumbled with biscuit crumbs and celery and onion and sage, moistened with turkey broth, baked until the top is golden and the inside is soft as pudding. I got it wrong last year, too much sage, and I've been thinking about it for twelve months the way normal people think about mistakes at work or words they shouldn't have said. My mistakes are culinary. My regrets are measured in teaspoons.

Started the prep Saturday. Baked the cornbread — buttermilk, white cornmeal, no sugar, because sweetening cornbread is a sin I will answer for if anyone in my house commits it — and set it out to dry overnight. Made biscuits and crumbled them into a bowl with the cornbread. Chopped celery and onion. Measured the sage carefully, less than last year, because Betty always said sage is like an opinion: a little goes a long way and too much ruins everything. The dressing won't get assembled until Thursday but the pieces are ready. Sometimes the preparation is the whole point. Sometimes getting the pieces ready is how you tell yourself that things are still in order, even when they're not.

The cornbread is drying and the biscuits are crumbled and there’s nothing left to do until Thursday — which is its own kind of problem. I put together this crouton method because it runs on the same logic as everything else I’ve been doing this week: you start with good bread, you dry it slow, and you don’t cut corners on the heat. They’ll go on the salad Connie likes to put out before the meal, and making them gives me something useful to do with my hands while I’m not thinking about the rest of it.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 18 minutes | Total Time: 23 minutes | Servings: 8 (about 1/2 cup each)

Ingredients

4 cups day-old bread, cut into 3/4-inch cubes (a sturdy loaf holds up best — sourdough, French, or a good white sandwich bread)
3 tablespoons olive oil or melted unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 375°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment or leave it bare — either works.
Cut the bread. Slice your day-old loaf into 3/4-inch slices, then cut those into cubes. Slightly stale bread is ideal; it absorbs the oil without going soggy. If your bread is still fresh, spread the cubes on the pan and set them out for an hour first.
Season. In a large bowl, toss the bread cubes with olive oil or melted butter until each piece is lightly coated. Add garlic powder, onion powder, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper. Toss again until the seasoning is evenly distributed.
Spread and bake. Arrange the cubes in a single layer on the baking sheet — no overlapping. Bake for 8 minutes, then pull the pan out and turn the croutons with a spatula. Return to the oven for another 8 to 10 minutes, until they are deep golden and crisp all the way through. A pale crouton is a sad crouton.
Cool completely. Slide the croutons off the pan and onto a wire rack or spread them on a clean towel. They crisp up further as they cool. Do not store them while warm or they will steam themselves soft.
Store. Once fully cooled, keep in an airtight container at room temperature for up to five days. They can also be frozen in a zip bag for up to a month — just re-toast them at 350°F for five minutes straight from the freezer.

Nutrition (per serving)

How To Make Homemade Croutons — Getting the Pieces Ready Before Thursday