Turkey and Stuffing Casserole

I visited the Cedarhurst facility alone on Wednesday — without David, without the clinical shield, just me and the hallways and the rooms and the garden and the staff and the specific, antiseptic, gentle reality of a place where people live who cannot live at home. I walked through the memory care unit. I saw the rooms — small, clean, each one a reduced version of a life. A bed. A dresser. A window. Room for a chair. Room for Marvin's chair. I asked the director if I could bring his recliner. She said yes. I asked if I could bring food. She said yes, within guidelines. I asked if I could visit every day. She said, "Mrs. Feldman, you can visit whenever you want. This is his home." His home. His home will be a room with a bed and a dresser and a window and his recliner and the food I bring and the visits I make. His home will not be this house. His home will be a place I chose for him because I love him too much to keep him in a place where the stove and the stairs and the night can hurt him.

I came home and sat in Marvin's chair. His recliner. The chair I will move to the facility when the time comes. I sat in it and I felt the shape of him in the cushion, the imprint of forty years of sitting, the physical evidence of a body that has occupied this chair for four decades. The chair knows him. The chair remembers him. The chair will go with him to the new place, and the chair will hold him there as it holds him here, because some things travel, and the chair is one of them.

I made roasted chicken — the Thursday chicken, on a Wednesday, because the schedule is mine now and I can cook the Thursday chicken on any day I choose, and the choosing is the freedom, and the freedom is all I have left, and I will use it to cook chicken on a Wednesday and sit in my husband's chair and cry and then get up and serve the chicken and eat the chicken and wash the dishes and go on, because going on is what I do. It is what Sylvia did. It is what the women do. We go on.

There is no roasted chicken recipe here, because the truth is I didn’t follow a recipe that Wednesday. I just cooked. But when I think about the meals that carry the same weight—the meals that are warm and full and ask nothing of you except that you sit down and eat—I think of turkey and stuffing casserole. It is the kind of dish Marvin would have asked for seconds of, the kind that fills the house with a smell that says someone is still here, still cooking, still going on.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 cups cooked turkey, shredded or cubed
1 box (6 oz) stuffing mix (such as Stove Top)
1 cup chicken broth
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 can (10.5 oz) cream of chicken soup
1/2 cup sour cream
1 cup frozen mixed vegetables (peas, carrots, corn)
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish.
Prepare the stuffing. In a medium bowl, combine the stuffing mix with chicken broth and melted butter. Stir until evenly moistened and set aside.
Mix the filling. In a large bowl, stir together the cream of chicken soup, sour cream, garlic powder, onion powder, and black pepper. Fold in the cooked turkey and frozen vegetables until well combined.
Layer the casserole. Spread the turkey mixture evenly into the prepared baking dish. Sprinkle the shredded cheddar cheese over the top, then spread the prepared stuffing mixture in an even layer over the cheese.
Bake. Place the casserole in the oven and bake uncovered for 40–45 minutes, until the stuffing is golden brown and the edges are bubbling.
Rest and serve. Let the casserole cool for 5 minutes before serving. Spoon generous portions and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Turkey and Stuffing Casserole — The Thursday Chicken on a Wednesday