The Stuffle

Or: Leftover Impressions

I’m not the traditional Thanksgiving dinner type. Sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and brown gravy make for a dull color palette, which in my professional opinion, is even duller on the human palate. No amount of cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, or green bean casserole can adequately disguise the drabness.

---

---

The day after Thanksgiving, however, is one of my favorite eating days on the holiday roster. My father would make marvelous, Shaggy-sized turkey sandwiches for lunch once his stomach was no longer distended from the previous day’s gluttony. They were marvelous creations, but not helpful for my own currently distended gut and my attention over the last few years has been turned in the direction of what I consider two of the most boring (but necessary) components that traditionally comprise the T-Day plate.

It has nothing to do with turkey, unless you consider mashed potatoes and non-invasively prepared stuffing guilty by association. Often, this Un-Dynamic Duo becomes little more than bland-ish lumps of starch which will either be left to molder at the back of your fridge in your mother’s old Country Crock margarine tubs or have their molecules overstimulated in a microwave and consumed dispassionately.

But when they come together with a few simple ingredients, get rolled into spheres roughly the size of a fast-pitch Lesbian League softball, something fairly magical happens to them.

They become stuffles.

The idea isn’t new and it certainly isn’t mine. I was turned onto them by my friends Anita and Cameron, who learned about them from their friends, and so on, and so on, and so on like a Fabergé Organics shampoo commercial.

---

---

Stuffles

So now here I am telling my two friends. Both of you.

One of the delights of this portmanteau of stuffing + waffles is that there really isn’t much of recipe. The finished product will—and I think should—vary in terms of flavor, texture, and amount. It all depends on your personal tastes, comfort level with crunchiness and/or patience, and the volume of leftovers you’ve got on hand. The key elements here are starches and something to bind them together.

I mention patience because these treats take anywhere from 5 minutes to infinity (or maybe 8 minutes but it just feels like infinity when you have several people staring at you over the kitchen counter asking if they’re done yet). When properly done, the crispy outside and pillowy, steaming interior make them entirely worth the wait.

Typically, I spend the night at the home of my friends Craig and Shannon, which may or may not be populated with relatives and some or all of my godchildren. I try to get up early to start making the stuffles because it takes time to make enough for everyone (If you are lucky enough have more than one waffle maker, use it/them). Invariably people wander downstairs and start nibbling at them as they are removed from the contraption, which I find both complimentary and extremely irritating. I’ll be putting my foot down this year and serve them when the stuffles and I are damned good and ready.

Within reason, because I’m not a complete monster.

I generally serve them with two styles of topping: cranberry sauce or gravlax, but I have the feeling that they’d be great with just about anything that suited your fancy. A poached egg is also really, really nice.

Go ahead and give them a try. Like the hot waffle iron in which they are squished, stuffles are bound to make a big— and lasting— impression.

Makes: As many as you want/need/can stand

Ingredients:

• Leftover mashed potatoes
• Leftover stuffing. I tend to make a 2:1 ratio of stuffing to potato, but it isn’t a hard and fast rule.
• Eggs. I generally use one, but if you’re making a lot, throw in a second. You want to bind the stuffing and potatoes together but you don’t want to wind up with eggy stuffles. Or do you? I don’t know your life.
• Salt and freshly ground pepper. Lots. You want their flavor to stand up to whatever you’re putting on top of them.
• Freshly ground nutmeg. As much as you dare.
• Got any leftover parsley or chives or other compatible herb that will otherwise be left to go slimy in a bag at the bottom of your fridge’s crisper? Chop them fine and add them, too.

Preparation:

1. Heat your oven on low. You’re keeping things warm, not baking.

2. In a large mixing bowl, add all of your ingredients in ratios that agree with your lifestyle choices and/or medical needs. Combine with spoon or with your (clean) hands. The sensation of the mixture squishing through your fingers is oddly satisfying. And you’ll have to use your hands in the next step anyhow so why not?

3. Take the desired portion amount and roll it into a smooth ball. Make them any size you like, but I can tell you right now that filling the entire waffle iron is—yes, I’m saying it— too much stuffle.

4. Place the raw stuffleball in the center of a pre-heated lightly greased waffle iron. I heat mine to just past medium (see above photo) with a brand of cooking spray which rhymes with “ham”, which is now giving me another topping idea. Inspiration can come from anywhere.

5. Close the lid of your waffle iron down upon the stuffleball and press down until sufficiently closed. Let them cook for at least 5 minutes before you even think of peeking at them. Set a timer. Go do something short term but constructive while you’re waiting. Call a relative you only sort of like and when the timer goes off you have the perfect excuse to hang up in a hurry.

6. Tell anyone who wanders into the kitchen that they can only stay if they do something useful. Otherwise kick them out immediately. Even if it’s their home. This is your time and you are doing G-d’s work.

7. Check on your stuffle. Is it dark enough to suit your taste? Does it sound crispy if you tap on it with your (again clean, please) fingernail? Great. I knew you could do it. Remove gently from the waffle iron. Place on a baking sheet and re-house in the warm oven. Repeat as often as needed or until you get bored. Hand off the job of making the last few stuffles to a child who is old and/or sensible enough not to burn the crap out of either the stuffles or themself.

8. Set out your desired toppings and arrange them attractively because you may be middle aged and single but you still have standards. Once all the stuffles are made, place them on a warm platter (which you can put in the low-temperature oven for a minute or so prior).

9. Was there any leftover Thanksgiving bourbon? Pour a little into the coffee that hopefully some helpful member of the household has made without your having to ask. Go ahead. You deserve it.

10. Call your ravenous family members/friends/hangers on to the kitchen/dining room/breakfast room/chosen place of stuffle consumption when you are emotionally prepared enough for the onslaught.

11. Accept the many compliments that will inevitably flow your way. Take a bow or curtsey according to your preference/level of joint mobility, then top up your coffee with a little more bourbon. You’ve done enough for today.

    ---

    ---