Thanksgiving Part 2: Marilyn's (Old-School) Stuffing

This old-school stuffing taught me two valuable lessons.

New York Times' version:

photo by Andrew Scrivani 

our version:

Lesson 1. Before embarking on a recipe, really ask yourself: Do you want to eat this?

Oftentimes, with the recipes I choose to attempt, I am driven by factors unrelated to the simple notion of wanting to eat my creation. I get sucked in by the story, the photograph, the person and history supporting the recipe, the difficulty level, and/or the strange ingredients. In this case, the story would be that this recipe was one Marilyn Monroe "Scrawled on stationery with a letterhead from a title insurance company." The photograph would be the gorgeous one above showing a multicolored half stuffing-like, half frittata-like substance in a rustic black cast iron pan against the red and white stripes of a potholder. The strange ingredients? Chicken livers, ground meat, water-soaked bread and a conglomeration of dried herbs. And instead of stepping back and assessing whether or not I wanted to eat this stuff(ing), I became attached, made a shopping list, and moved forward.

With this recipe, regret came very soon after I'd gathered the ingredients and begun soaking the sourdough loaf in water. Do you know how unappealing soggy sourdough bread looks and feels? Why water, Marilyn? If we're going to soak bread in something, why not at least some manner of stock? Pouring water on bread seems to be something you might do to ruin bread. But then, if we're going to blame someone, let's blame me. I mean, what do we remember Marilyn Monroe for? I will give you one hint: It's not her cooking.

And let's not forget that this stuffing is no 5 Ingredient Fix. But yet again, it's not like I was going into this blind. Take this passage from the article: "The most unnerving thing about the recipe is its laboriousness. More than two hours passed as we soaked and shredded sourdough (to be fair, soggy sourdough more or less shreds itself), peeled hard-boiled eggs, simmered livers in water, browned the beef, cracked pepper, chopped and measured. When the ingredients were finally laid out, they filled 15 ramekins and bowls. Did Marilyn really have this much time on her hands?"

But in the immortal words of Alanis: You live. You learn. And maybe next time I will take my palate into consideration before the next attempt.

My palate! This brings us to lesson number two.

Lesson 2. I don't like liver and that's OK.

Somewhere during this past year, I began putting pressure on myself to eat more adventurously. I think this started around the time of my big culinary-point-of-view shift, or maybe even more specifically, when I read this line by M.F.K. Fisher from How to Cook a Wolf: “One way to horrify at least eight out of ten Anglo-Saxons is to suggest their eating anything but the actual red fibrous meat of a beast." This sentence definitely shamed me a bit. I mean, who did I think I was? Eating chicken breasts but never the giblets, feet, or even the wings? I began to think: A whole animal died just so that I could eat a portion of it? Is that right? Is that fair? Does that make sense?

So, subconsciously buoyed by M.F.K., I saw the livers in the recipe and tried to shake them off. No big deal. Just another part of the chicken. Even though my last dalliance with chicken livers wasn't a total success. Remember? I had paired them with water chestnuts and wrapped the two in bacon to make rumaki as a Mad Men homage. I hadn't loved working with them then, but I didn't totally hate them either. This time, though, the moment the livers hit the boiling water, the kitchen began to smell of briny wet dog, and I became a bit sad. When I took them out of the boiling water and chopped them up and removed the weird membrane-like part, I became sadder. I so very much wanted to be one of those two out of ten Anglo-Saxons not horrified at the suggestion of "their eating anything but the actual red fibrous meat of a beast."

So, I forged onward and formulated a plan. I told myself there was still a lot to like about this stuffing—take the walnuts and Parmesan cheese for examples. I liked those ingredients. I decided that all Marilyn's stuffing needed was a couple of side dishes to go with it (even though we had eaten the sausage brioche dressing from a few days ago completely solo and had been fine with that). I picked up some large portions of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese at our nearby grocery store. I served this trio for dinner and realized I was now treating the stuffing like a pill and myself like a dog that needed that pill hidden inside something straightforwardly delicious in order to swallow it.

Which brings us to the conclusion: I do not like liver and that's OK.

(Also, sidebar, I still didn't really eat the stuffing. I did eat the walnuts, though!)

Marilyn's Stuffing via The New York Times
Time: 2 hours

No garlic
A 10-ounce loaf sourdough bread
1/2 pound chicken or turkey livers or hearts
1/2 pound ground round or other beef
1 tablespoon cooking oil
4 stalks celery, chopped
1 large onion, chopped
2 cups chopped curly parsley
2 eggs, hard boiled, chopped
1 1/2 cups raisins
1 cup grated Parmesan
1 1/4 cups chopped walnuts, pine nuts or roasted chestnuts, or a combination
2 teaspoons dried crushed rosemary
2 teaspoons dried crushed oregano
2 teaspoons dried crushed thyme
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon salt-free, garlic-free poultry seasoning (or 1 teaspoon dried sage, 1 teaspoon marjoram, 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger and 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg)
1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1 tablespoon pepper.

1. Split the bread loaf in half and soak it in a large bowl of cold water for 15 minutes. Wring out excess water over a colander and shred into pieces.
2. Boil the livers or hearts for 8 minutes in salted water, then chop until no piece is larger than a coffee bean.
3. In a skillet over medium-high heat, brown the ground beef in the oil, stirring occasionally and breaking up the meat, so no piece is larger than a pistachio.
4. In your largest mixing bowl, combine the sourdough, livers, ground beef, celery, onion, parsley, eggs, raisins, Parmesan and nuts, tossing gently with your hands to combine. Whisk the rosemary, oregano, thyme, bay leaves, poultry seasoning, salt and pepper together in a bowl, scatter over the stuffing and toss again with your hands. Taste and adjust for salt. Refrigerate, covered, until ready to use as a stuffing or to bake separately as dressing.

NOTE: The recipe doesn't specify, but I baked it sans any bird at 400 degrees, uncovered for 20 minutes and then covered for another 25 minutes.

Yield: 20 cups, enough for one large turkey, 2 to 3 geese or 8 chickens.

Pizzeria Mozza's Butterscotch Budino

Despite my general paleness, dislike of Diet Coke, and progressive political leanings, one of the ways I know that I am indeed my mother's daughter is our shared love for super-thin crust pizza and dessert. Armed with this knowledge, the last time Mom was in town, I took her to Pizzeria Mozza where the two of us sat at the bar and indulged in a round of, in Mozza-speak, antipasti, pizza and dulci. It was great. Mom loved everything. And for one meal, we were a united food front—with only a moment of discord when the bartender recommended pairing their infamous dessert, the butterscotch budino, with the Moscato. My eyes lit up but Mom was already shaking her head no. (Mom doesn't like "the taste" of alcohol.) For the rest of the trip, all other fancy desserts paled in comparison. Sweet Lady Jane's Princess Cake? Urth Caffe's Chocolate Hazelnut? Mom concluded the same: "Not as good as that budino!"

When I arrived at the beach with the recipe printed out, my mom looked at me like I had just pulled the sword out of the stone. (In case you haven't heard already, the Internet is anathema to my mom and these kinds of everyday Google searches still somehow shock her. For the next fifteen minutes, I was fielding questions like: How did you find it? And: But who would leave this recipe floating around in the Internet?)

After Mom's and my canola oil/ olive oil disagreement, I knew I needed to keep my ingredient shopping on the down low, especially since Mom was fine with using vanilla extract instead of the bean and forgoing the dark rum altogether, but I didn't want to go Nancy Silverton/Mario Batali-lite on this. I wanted the budino exactly as remembered.

Remember when you were younger and would sneak around smoking cigarettes and/or doing other activities parents typically frown upon? What about shopping for vanilla bean and dark rum? With the veiled excuse of "really exploring" Charleston, Matt and I split up from the group to scour downtown Charleston for these already-vetoed ingredients. Half an hour later, we met up with our parents at the restaurant with the vanilla bean secured but alas, no dark rum. (South Carolina is one of those states where you can only purchase liquor at a liquor store—another reason to appreciate California? For sure.)

Pizzeria Mozza's version (our picture):

our version:

I didn't get the dark caramel color in either the pudding or the caramel sauce. For the pudding, I believe I can safely say this was because of our lack of rum and the substitution of brown sugar instead of dark brown sugar, but as for the sauce, I think I just didn't let it cook long enough.

I know what a huge hit my last animated gif was, so here is another one for you. I couldn't resist. You can kind of get the vibe of the whole vacay.

This one is pretty great, too.

"None of my parents are in this shot, right, Matt?"

Imperfect ingredients and all, the overall taste wasn't so far off from Mozza's. It's sweet and rich with just the right amount of salt, and the topping—whipped cream and creme fraiche—adds this tangy coolness that mellows out all that butter. Truly delicious.

A few tips:
1. Really let that caramel sauce bubble and cook until it's medium amber in color.
2. Allow yourself longer than 3 hours for the pudding to set up—after four hours, ours wasn't as custardy as I would have liked.
3. And lastly: enjoy with loved ones.

Butterscotch Budino with Caramel Sauce via NY Times:
Adapted from Dahlia Narvaez of Pizzeria Mozza
Time: 1 hour, plus 3 hours’ chilling

FOR THE BUDINO
3 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 cups milk
1 large egg
3 large egg yolks
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/8 cups dark brown sugar
1 1/2teaspoons kosher salt
5 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons dark rum

FOR THE SAUCE AND TOPPING
3/4 cup heavy cream
Scrapings from 1-inch piece of vanilla bean, or 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons butter
2tablespoons light corn syrup
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons fleur de sel
3/4 cup crème fraîche.
1. For the budino, combine cream and milk in bowl or pitcher, set aside. Whisk egg, egg yolks and cornstarch in medium bowl, set aside.
2. Combine brown sugar, kosher salt and 1/2 cup water in pot. Place over medium-high heat and let sit until edges start to brown. Tilt pot as needed to even the browning until caramelized, nutty and deep brown, about 10 minutes.
3. Immediately whisk in cream mixture, mixture will steam and caramel will seize. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium. Whisk a cup at a time into egg mixture until half is incorporated. Remove from heat, and immediately whisk egg mixture back into pot until custard is very thick, about 2 minutes.
4. Whisk in butter and rum. Pass through a fine mesh strainer and divide among 10 6-ounce ramekins. Cover with plastic wrap, allow to cool, and refrigerate until chilled, about 3 hours or up to 3 days.
5. For sauce, combine 1/2 cup of cream and the vanilla in medium saucepan. Heat until simmering. Add butter and remove from heat; set aside.
6. In large heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine corn syrup, sugar and enough water (3 to 4 tablespoons) to make a wet, sandy mixture. Cook over medium-high heat, swirling pan for even cooking, until mixture is medium amber, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and carefully whisk in cream mixture; set aside and let cool. (May be refrigerated and reheated before serving.)
7. Whisk remaining 1/4 cup cream in a large bowl until it begins to thicken. Add crème fraîche and whisk until thick and fluffy. To serve, spoon a tablespoon of warm caramel sauce over each budino. Sprinkle with 1/8 teaspoon fleur de sel, and add a dollop of cream topping.
Yield: 10 servings.

Molly Killeen’s St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake via The New York Times

I'm technically graduating from grad school this month, which means that my student loan is entering its grace period, which means that I had to take this mandatory exit counseling session for the loan I took out before I exited. (By the way, this is my new favorite non-euphemism for graduating--exiting. Congrats, exit-or!) (I know, I know--not all exit-ors necessarily graduate.) Anywaaaay, as the last step, I had to make a budget for my life, only there was no section for gourmet-food-blog-related expenses, so I just added it to food. No biggie, right?  Well, let's not get into specifics here. Let's just say, I was over budget.

So this attempt is a dedication to balancing the budget. Thanks to all the leftover unsalted butter in the refrigerator from Thanksgiving, I had everything on hand for this recipe and you probably do too.

Molly Killeen's version:

 Andrew Scrivani for The New York Times

our version:

I am a huge fan of mildly sweet desserts, and so when I read Melissa Clark's article about this two-layer cake with a bottom layer that sounded more like bread than cake, I was totally sold. 

I hadn't baked in a while and forgot about the foresight needed when it comes to room-temperature ingredients. My solution was to put both the milk and butter on top of the hot toaster oven for a few minutes though I didn't feel great about the partially melted butter.

This bready/cakey layer needed to rise for three hours, which would have meant me putting it in the oven around 9pm. Instead, I remembered something from a previous baking attempt (battle challah?) about allowing bread to rise in the refrigerator overnight--that it actually made for a slower, more complex rise. (I might be making this up about the complex part, but I feel like it's true?)

In the morning, I was convinced that I'd ruined it. It was supposed to have doubled in size, but it didn't  look like it had risen even a quarter of its size. I braced myself for failure, put the bottom layer on top of my warm stove (in hope that it might rise) and continued onward with making the top layer--the layer that puts the gooey in this recipe's name.

I took my time, cleaning up as I went along, and guess what? By the time I pulled the cover off the bottom layer, it looked a little puffed up--probably not doubled, but certainly puffed.

Slightly less braced for failure, I poured what was destined to be the gooey layer over the bready layer and put it in the oven.

Uhm. Allow me to explain in terms of The Twilight Saga. Eating this cake is a lot like being a teenager who falls irrevocably in love with an extremely good-looking vampire. You know it's not good for you, but you just can't help yourself. (So I got into The Twilight Saga. So what? Matt started it.)

RECIPE via NY Times:
3 tablespoons milk at room temperature
1 3/4 teaspoons active dry yeast
6 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large egg
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

For the topping:
3 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon light corn syrup
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large egg
1 cup plus 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
Confectioners’ sugar, for sprinkling.


1. In a small bowl, mix milk with 2 tablespoons warm water. Add yeast and whisk gently until it dissolves. Mixture should foam slightly.

2. Using an electric mixer with paddle attachment, cream butter, sugar and salt. Scrape down sides of bowl and beat in the egg. Alternately add flour and the milk mixture, scraping down sides of bowl between each addition. Beat dough on medium speed until it forms a smooth mass and pulls away from sides of bowl, 7 to 10 minutes.

3. Press dough into an ungreased 9-by 13-inch baking dish at least 2 inches deep. Cover dish with plastic wrap or clean tea towel, put in a warm place, and allow to rise until doubled, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

4. Heat oven to 350 degrees. To prepare topping, in a small bowl, mix corn syrup with 2 tablespoons water and the vanilla. Using an electric mixer with paddle attachment, cream butter, sugar and salt until light and fluffy, 5 to 7 minutes. Scrape down sides of bowl and beat in the egg. Alternately add flour and corn syrup mixture, scraping down sides of bowl between each addition.

5. Spoon topping in large dollops over risen cake and use a spatula to gently spread it in an even layer. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes; cake will rise and fall in waves and have a golden brown top, but will still be liquid in center when done. Allow to cool in pan before sprinkling with confectioners’ sugar for serving.