I stood in the kitchen staring at a pack of chicken breasts and felt completely defeated.
The day had already won, and the thought of actually “cooking” felt like a mountain I couldn’t climb.
I didn’t have a plan, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to care.
I just wanted to sit down, but the family was starting to circle the kitchen like hungry sharks.
That’s when I saw a box of stuffing mix sitting in the back of the pantry and thought, “Why not?”
I grabbed my slow cooker and just dropped the chicken breasts right into the bottom.
No cutting, no seasoning, no touching raw meat more than I absolutely had to.
I opened a couple of cans of cream of chicken soup and just glopped them right over the top.
It didn’t look pretty, but I was already committed to the laziness of it all.
Then came the “magic” step—I just ripped open the bag of dry stuffing mix and dumped the whole thing on top.
I didn’t even stir it.
I just leveled it out a little with my hand and poured a bit of melted butter over the crumbs because butter makes everything better.
That was it.
I put the lid on, clicked it to low, and walked away to go do literally anything else.
A few hours later, the house started to smell like Thanksgiving on a random Tuesday.
It was that deep, herbal, savory scent that makes you feel like you’ve been working hard all day.
When I finally lifted the lid, a cloud of savory steam hit my face.
The stuffing had soaked up the juices and the soup, turning into this incredibly soft, flavorful topping.
Underneath, the chicken was so tender it was practically falling apart just looking at it.
The edges where the stuffing touched the side of the pot had gotten a little bit chewy and golden.
That was all I did—just dumped it and left it alone.
I scooped it into bowls, and it was surprisingly thick and rich.
It looked like a proper casserole that someone’s grandmother would have spent all afternoon preparing.
My husband actually asked if I’d been secretly working on a new recipe while he was out.
The kids didn’t even poke at it to find “green things”; they just started eating.
It was warm, it was salty, and it felt like a heavy blanket for our stomachs.
Everything was soft and creamy, and we didn’t even need knives to eat it.
It’s funny how the meals you care about the least end up being the ones everyone asks for again.
I think I’ll probably keep this one in my back pocket for next time I’m too tired to think.
