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Bagged Stuffing, I'm Never Gonna Give You Up

I grew up eating Pepperidge Farm bagged stuffing, and I don't think I can ever switch to homemade.

Bagged Stuffing I'm Never Gonna Give You Up
Photo courtesy of Pepperidge Farm; Illustration by Rosie Naberezny

I can count the times I've had homemade stuffing on one hand. Growing up in the Whitney household, Thanksgiving was always the same. It was semi-homemade, a mix of family recipes and store-bought: turkey, canned cranberry sauce, too many casseroles, and bagged stuffing. The red bag of Pepperidge Farm cubed seasoned stuffing was the No. 1 essential ever year, and honestly I don't know if any other brands even exist. This is not to be confused with the blue bag of "herb stuffing mix"—a mistake my dad made one year, causing everyone to panic—which has much smaller pieces and is more like moist breadcrumbs.

But anyway, onto my dirty little food-writer secret favorite food: cubed stuffing. It's ready in five minutes after simmering some water and butter together, transforming Thanksgiving-seasoned croutons to fluffy stuffing. The directions say that you can sauté celery and onions (no carrots?) together before putting in the dried bread, but my family of picky eaters who rarely think about flavor usually skips this step. Unlike a panzanella, this is not even slightly crunchy. It is as soft as biting down into a piece of Wonder Bread, but also has a little chewiness that is enhanced, as most things are, by a drizzle of gravy. For me, it's Thanksgiving in a bite. The herbs I associate with the food holiday are all present: thyme, sage, rosemary, garlic, onion, and maybe marjoram. (The Pepperidge Farm website doesn't list all the spices, but onion powder is definitely one.) It's salty in the way only a packaged product can taste.

I'll never know the crispy edges of baked homemade stuffing, but I'll survive.

Alex Lau

You probably know by now that this doesn't get stuffed into the bird—just before the turkey is done cooking, my mom somehow dumps two or three bags into a 6-quart pot and lets it hang out. Then comes her genius addition: When the turkey comes out of the oven, she scoops a cup or two of drippings. The stuffing is infused with all the flavor from the turkey and a little fat, and it isn't too soggy. It's the right amount of mush!

As an editor at Bon Appétit, I know I shouldn't be praising boxed stuffing. The BA test kitchen does not recommend packaged stuffing of any kind. We have a new recipe for "if it ain't broke, don't fix it stuffing" because a classic tasting, homemade stuffing isn't ultimately hard to make. But you know what would be broken if I stopped loving the store-bought stuff? MY MOTHER'S HEART.

Even though she welcomes me trying out new recipes on the family—like savory sweet potato casserole and Parker House rolls last year—the stuffing is her thing. She has her turkey-drippings trick and makes three bags because she knows it's our favorite. And her other recipes are homemade, like savory rice pudding (that's more like a soufflé), creamy corn pudding, broccoli-cheddar casserole, a sky high apple pie, and other hearty, carb-y things that make us happy. We don't eat like this all the time, so this stuffing is traditional (to us!). It could be cooked better, sure, but then it wouldn't be the stuffing I grew up with, and Thanksgiving would feel wrong. I'm thinking of this article as a safe space to proclaim my love for Pepperidge Farm, because I have a feeling some of our readers might also rely on it every Thanksgiving, too. [Note to editor: Please don't fire me.]


Maybe my appreciation for bagged stuffing is just a metaphor for how much I will always love my family, no matter how stubborn they are about tradition or how picky their palates are. We'll continue eating Thanksgiving dinner at 3 p.m. and keeping half a dozen bags of stuffing in the cupboard "just in case," and I'll try to remember to call home and tell them I love stuffing—I mean, them—when it's not the holidays.

Should I show my mom this stuffing video?