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Sausage Strata -- The Comfort of Showing Up

February — the long exhale, the last mile of winter. Made mac and cheese Wednesday — sharp cheddar, cream cheese, elbow macaroni, bread crumb topping, baked until bubbling. Betty made mac and cheese for every homecoming and church supper and never shared the recipe. I thought it was modesty but now realize it was strategy — if everyone had the recipe, Betty's mac and cheese wouldn't be special. Scarcity creates value, a principle she applied to cheese sauce forty years before anyone put it in a business book.

Time has become strange since the diagnosis, collapsing and expanding. Diane says anxiety about health bends the clock. The only reliable clock is the body: breathe in, breathe out.

Amber called with wedding updates. May 2024 — date is set. Louisville, a venue that sounds expensive, which I'll pay for without complaint because the cost of the venue is irrelevant next to twenty-eight years of raising her, which was the best investment I've ever made. She asked if I would walk her down the aisle. I said yes. She said what if you cry. I said I will definitely cry. She said in front of everyone? I said in front of God.

Betty never shared her mac and cheese recipe, but she shared everything else — her time, her table, her presence at every occasion that mattered. That’s what I kept thinking about after Amber’s call, that the food was never really the point; showing up was. So I made a sausage strata, the kind of dish you assemble the night before because you’re already thinking ahead to the morning, already setting a place at the table — the same way I’ve been doing for twenty-eight years, and the same way I’ll do walking her down that aisle in May.

Sausage Strata

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour | Total Time: 1 hour 20 minutes (plus overnight rest) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

  • 1 pound bulk breakfast sausage
  • 1 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 1 red bell pepper, diced
  • 6 cups cubed day-old white or French bread (about 1/2 inch cubes)
  • 2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
  • 8 large eggs
  • 2 1/2 cups whole milk
  • 1 teaspoon dry mustard
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional, for garnish)

Instructions

  1. Brown the sausage. In a large skillet over medium heat, cook the sausage, breaking it into crumbles, until no longer pink, about 7–8 minutes. Add the diced onion and bell pepper and cook until softened, another 4–5 minutes. Drain excess fat and set aside.
  2. Layer the base. Spread the cubed bread evenly across a greased 9x13-inch baking dish. Scatter the sausage mixture over the bread, then top with 1 1/2 cups of the shredded cheddar.
  3. Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, dry mustard, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until fully combined.
  4. Soak and rest. Pour the egg mixture evenly over the bread and sausage layers, pressing down gently to ensure the bread absorbs the custard. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight.
  5. Preheat and top. When ready to bake, remove the dish from the refrigerator and let it sit at room temperature for 20 minutes. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Sprinkle the remaining 1/2 cup of cheddar over the top.
  6. Bake. Bake uncovered for 55–65 minutes, until the top is golden, the edges are set, and the center no longer jiggles. A knife inserted in the center should come out clean.
  7. Rest and serve. Let the strata rest for 10 minutes before cutting. Garnish with fresh parsley if desired and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 24g | Fat: 26g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 780mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 407 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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