A Big Little Recipe has the smallest-possible ingredient list and big everything else: flavor, creativity, wow factor. Psst—we don't count water, salt, black pepper, and certain fats (specifically, 1/2 cup or less of olive oil, vegetable oil, and butter), since we're guessing you have those covered. Today, we’re making a Thanksgiving-ready stuffing.
357 days ago, we published this column’s debut stuffing, which we called, without any hyperbole or humor, “shockingly simple”. The shocking part referred to all the classic components that the recipe straight-up skipped, like sautéed onions and celery, and toasted nuts and dried fruit, and cured meat and leafy greens.
There were, of course, some ingredients that were non-negotiable. Bread, yes, but also fat (all butter to keep things vegetarian), eggs (for that fluffy-custardy texture), and stock.
This year, we’re ditching the stock.
When you hear this word, you probably picture a giant, gurgling pot of meaty bones, vegetable scraps (onion ends, celery tops, carrot butts), and maybe even a bouquet de garnis. As the late Anthony Bourdain put it in Kitchen Confidential, “stock is the backbone of good cooking.” Which is to say, stock is the backbone of good stuffing.
But what, really, classifies as stock? Merriam-Webster defines it as “liquid in which meat, fish, or vegetables have been simmered that is used as a basis for soup, gravy, or sauce.” And in How to Cook Everything, Mark Bittman describes “the simplest vegetable stock” as “an onion, a carrot, a celery stalk, a few other scraps, cooked together for 20 minutes.” But I know a stock that’s even simpler and quicker:
One ingredient, four minutes, ta-da.
You may know it by another name: blanching liquid, aka the salty, flavorful, colorful water that’s left behind after you boil vegetables. Odds are, you pour it right down the drain—but what if, next time, you grabbed a spoon and tried it? You wouldn’t taste something worth pouring down the drain. You would taste vegetable stock. And not vegetable stock in the many-ingredient sense we’re used to, where the flavors blur into brown. But a single vegetable stock, sharply focused and intensely flavored.
Today, we’re making broccoli rabe stock. If you’re adding broccoli rabe to anything, whether it’s pasta or stuffing, you would likely be doing this anyway (a quick blanch not only tenderizes the stalks but saps their bitterness). This nourishing liquid happily take the place of homemade or boxed stock, while the broccoli rabe itself becomes the main vegetable in our stuffing.
Now you’re probably wondering about all the other ingredients. There aren’t many: Bread (any loaf will do, but Italian-minded ones such as ciabatta or focaccia are especially up for the job). Spicy sausage (a best friend to broccoli rabe, sweeter varieties work, too). Yellow onion for bonus savoriness (sautéed in rendered sausage fat, yes please). Eggs for structure and texture. Plus honorary Big Little ingredients, salt and butter, because stuffing doesn’t really work without them.
The result is a sausage stuffing that’s greener and brighter and livelier than what Thanksgiving is used to. And for that very reason, you’ll find this on my table long after the holiday has passed.
| 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 | pounds bread of your choice (see headnote), torn into 1 ½–inch pieces |
| 5 | quarts water |
| 2 | bunches broccoli rabe, rough chopped |
| 1 | pound hot Italian sausage links, casings removed |
| 2 | tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided |
| 8 | tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, divided |
| 1 | large yellow onion, diced (about ½-inch pieces) |
| 3 | large eggs |
| 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 | pounds bread of your choice (see headnote), torn into 1 ½–inch pieces |
| 5 | quarts water |
| 2 | bunches broccoli rabe, rough chopped |
| 1 | pound hot Italian sausage links, casings removed |
| 2 | tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided |
| 8 | tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, divided |
| 1 | large yellow onion, diced (about ½-inch pieces) |
| 3 | large eggs |
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Written by: Emma Laperruque
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8 Comments
But then, who knows? This could become a new must-have in years to come. At least one of those traditionalists loves broccoli rabe, which we don’t often have because it’s so hard to source, among other reasons. ;o)
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