That Dressing Recipe

A Family Tradition Fades

My Grandmother, Reva Hayden, at 9 months old in 1916. Her mother, Carrie Hayden.

I was inspired by Lori Olson White’s wonderful story Howard & Elvira: Love and the German Chocolate Cake to write about one of my traditional family recipes.

I don’t remember exactly when, but I was probably 8 or 9 years old before I realized not every family had Oyster Dressing on holidays. We always did. That’s what Dressing was.

Once, I mentioned this to my school friends. Their noses crinkled and a collective “Eeewwww!” followed. I didn’t understand. I asked, “What do you have?”

The answer was stuffing, at which my nose crinkled. The only stuffing I’d ever had was an ominous concoction of parched grain or bread crumbs, apparently seasoned with nothing at all before being heated to an eye-watering level of dryness, that threatened to block my airway if I breathed in before I managed to choke it down. I firmly believe there are fabulous stuffing dishes out there that families enjoy, but I’m ruined for life on stuffing. The word itself impels me to chug a glass of water. I’ve heard magical tales of stuffing actually being cooked inside the turkey, as the name implies, in order to absorb moisture and flavor, which makes far more sense than pan-drying crumbs, but I’ve not had that. I don’t remember who made that desiccated stuffing; my brain has blocked it out. I’m certain my great-grandmother was not present or there would have been a scene.

Great-Grandparents Everett & Carrie Hayden

When my great-grandparents, and then my grandparents, were still around, Great-Grandma Hayden’s Oyster Dressing was required to share the center table position with the turkey. A half ton of bread was torn into pieces and placed in a huge bowl. This coveted privilege was my job as a child, as it was my daughter’s. Contrary to the adherence to using all homemade/”quality” ingredients, the bread used must be what my grandmother called “gommy bread.” Cheap, store-bought white bread, surreptitiously purchased by hiding the loaves behind other grocery items until checkout so no one would think my grandmother served it. If she thought she was caught in the act, she felt the need to explain, “Well…it’s for the Oyster Dressing,” then she would point to the two containers of fresh oysters as proof.

An abundance of chopped onion (2 medium) and celery (like, an entire bunch), was sautéed in plenty of butter until transparent but not browning. There must be no hard edges in this dish. It was set aside to await its time.

The oysters were usually chopped because oysters were expensive and smaller pieces made them seem more numerous. I suspect whole oysters would have been a bit much anyway.

My Grandmother’s cookbook

The oyster liquor was added to the bread along with enough broth (preferably including the turkey drippings if the bird was already done) to completely saturate every iota of the bread. It must be well-stirred to ensure no morsel remained able to accept another drop. Broth reduces the bulk of the bread similar to the way cooking spinach reduces a bushel to a quarter cupful. Then it had to sit for a few minutes before adding just a little bit more, until it started to pool on top. This necessitated placing a baking sheet under the casserole to catch the overspill, but it was a crucial step for a moist and succulent dressing without a hint of dryness. After no more broth could be added, the sautéed onion and celery, chopped oysters, and plenty of sage, salt, and pepper were folded in. Then the weighty casserole dish was reverently placed in the oven to bake for 45-60 minutes, depending on how many people it was made to feed.

I could hear the drip, sizzle of the broth hitting the baking sheet as it bubbled. The kitchen smelled, well, like a holiday. When it came out of the oven, every edge of the baking dish was coated with baked-on broth. The edges were a light golden color (but not hard or dry, mind you) and the entire house was redolent with the scent of sage. The dressing was ready! The only thing to finish after the dressing were the rolls, which didn’t take long and besides, the dressing needed to cool down from volcanic to just hot. If you smelled the dressing, you knew it was about time to eat. Just like with brownies, there were edge-piece people and center-portion people. I was a center-portion person.

Reva & Kenneth Brown

Despite her many handwritten recipes and notes, my grandmother’s cookbook doesn’t record the dressing recipe. If she wrote it down, which I doubt, it has been lost. I understand why my grandmother and her mother didn’t write it down. The recipe is fluid, adaptable. It’s made by intuition, experience, and visual appearance. The responsibility of making the dressing skipped a generation because my grandmother made it until she died, at which time I started making it, or started trying to make it, like she did.

I had nothing to go by but my memories of the bread-tearing event and the finished dish itself. I spent a few years working to replicate the recipe, with ultimate success when my mother pronounced, “That’s just like she used to make!”

The size of our family has reduced so significantly that making a whole casserole of dressing is just too much. But, I have written down what I know. Recording it is especially important now that I’m the only family member left who remembers it and liked it. My daughter loved ripping up the bread, but won’t eat it and says, “I don’t like wet bread.” My grandmother died when my daughter was still too small to have grown to know and love it. I do sometimes make a small dish of an oysterless version.

The Oyster Dressing recipe has trailed along behind my ancestors, but I want to revive it by recording it for whomever might wish to try it in the future. I may make the original again soon for old times’ sake…and to be sure I have it right.