Philadelphia Sushi Stacks

Clarence died on February 19, 2026. Lung cancer took him in four months, which is fast even for lung cancer, which is not known for its patience. He died at home in Charleston, in the house he shared with Louise for thirty-eight years, in the bed he slept in, with Louise holding his hand and the television playing something he wasn't watching. He was seventy-two years old. He was my brother. He is gone.

Denise drove me to Charleston for the funeral. Two hours and forty minutes. The same road I've driven to funerals before — James Jr.'s, Bernice's — and the road doesn't change. The road just carries you to the place you don't want to go, and you go because going is what the living do for the dead. You show up. You cook. You bury them. You drive home.

The funeral was at Clarence's church, a small Baptist church on the north side of Charleston. The pews were full — Clarence was loved, the way all the Williams children were loved, widely and by people who remembered who we were before any of us were anything. I sat in the front row with Louise and Clarence's two sons, and I held Louise's hand the way people held my hand at Earl's funeral, which is the only useful thing you can do at a funeral: hold a hand and be present and not say anything stupid.

I made the repast food. Of course I did. Catfish and hushpuppies — Clarence's favorite, the meal he asked for when he got the diagnosis, the meal that tastes like the river and the Lowcountry and the childhood we shared in the shotgun house with six chairs and the smell of Hattie Pearl's cooking. I fried the catfish in cornmeal in the cast iron — Hattie Pearl's skillet, the skillet that has cooked for five funerals now and which does not distinguish between celebration and grief because the skillet just cooks. The skillet just feeds. The skillet does its job.

Of the six Williams children: Willie James. James Jr. Bernice. Clarence. Four gone. Two remain. Me and Ruthie Mae. The sister who cooks and the sister who forgets. We are the last two leaves on a tree that was planted in a shotgun house in Savannah in the 1940s, and the tree is almost bare, and the wind is blowing, and I am holding on.

I called Ruthie Mae on the drive home. The nurse said it was not a good day. I talked to her anyway. "Ruthie Mae," I said, "Clarence is gone." She was quiet. I don't know if she understood. I don't know if the word "gone" means anything to her anymore, when so many things are gone from her mind already. But I said it because the saying matters. The saying is the honoring. The saying is the last sister telling the other last sister that their brother has joined the rest of them on the other side, and we are the only ones left, and the food is the only thing that survives us all.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Clarence’s catfish and hushpuppies were right for that day — the Lowcountry, the repast, the cast iron that’s cooked through five funerals and doesn’t ask questions. But after I got home and the house went quiet again, I needed something I could make just for myself, something that didn’t carry the weight of all that grief in every bite. A friend had shown me these sushi stacks a few months back — salmon, cream cheese, rice, avocado, layered up neat and pretty — and I made them that week just to prove I still could feed myself, not just everyone else. The skillet gets the funerals. These stacks, they’re for the living.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups sushi rice, uncooked
1 3/4 cups water
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 oz smoked salmon, thinly sliced
4 oz cream cheese, softened and cut into small cubes
1 large avocado, diced
1/2 English cucumber, finely diced
2 tablespoons soy sauce (or tamari for gluten-free)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon sriracha (optional)
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon sesame seeds
Wonton chips or cucumber rounds, for serving

Instructions

Cook the rice. Rinse sushi rice under cold water until water runs clear. Combine with 1 3/4 cups water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and cook 18 minutes. Remove from heat and let steam, covered, for 5 minutes.
Season the rice. In a small bowl, stir together rice vinegar, sugar, and salt until dissolved. Fold the vinegar mixture gently into the warm rice. Spread onto a baking sheet and fan or let cool to room temperature, about 10 minutes.
Make the sauce. Whisk together soy sauce, sesame oil, and sriracha (if using) in a small bowl. Set aside.
Assemble the stacks. Line a 1-cup measuring cup or small ramekin with plastic wrap. Press a layer of cooled sushi rice firmly into the bottom (about 1/3 cup). Add a layer of diced cucumber, then cream cheese cubes, then smoked salmon. Press gently to compact. Invert onto a serving plate and lift the cup and plastic wrap away. Repeat for remaining stacks.
Top and serve. Spoon diced avocado over each stack. Drizzle with the soy-sesame sauce. Garnish with sliced green onions and sesame seeds. Serve immediately with wonton chips or cucumber rounds alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Philadelphia Sushi Stacks — For the Ones Still at the Table