It was muggy. the kind of afternoon that clings to your back. I wasn’t planning to grill—I wasn’t even planning to cook.
but the fridge smelled like someone else’s choices and Mae had taken the last of the pasta. so. turkey.
The recipe wasn’t new to me. I’d seen Her Highness’s Turkey Burgers in an old issue folded open under a cracked Pyrex lid. Page still smelled like mustard. She calls for Gruyère, scallions, Dijon. Which—sure. That’s not a burger. That’s a cheese-forward ground meat cake. But she’s Martha. She gets to name things.
What the Original Looked Like
Her version was clean. Neat. Like the kind of picnic you bring cloth napkins to. She mixes turkey with grated Gruyère, scallions, Dijon mustard, a bit of breadcrumb. One clove of garlic. That’s all. Formed into tidy discs, seared hard, then finished slow—just like she tells you to. Not a crumble in sight. Not a splatter on her sleeve.
I think that’s what always gets me. Her food looks like it’s never been doubted.
How It Happened in My Kitchen
I started with the turkey. cold fingers. quiet house.
scallions sliced with the wrong knife because the good one was in the dishwasher—again
the green bits scattered across the cutting board like confetti after a party no one really enjoyed.
Mae wasn’t home. the silence felt like a dare. So I mashed things together with a fork at first, like she said, but it felt too delicate—too TV-ready. I used my hands. That’s when I remembered the dented Dutch oven, even though I wasn’t using it. I still looked at it. Still tapped the side with the spoon like it was going to say something back.
I shaped the patties while the grill heated, pressed thumb divots in the middle because someone once told me that keeps them from puffing. I’ve never checked if it’s true.
Threw them on. Smoke hit the window screen. Smelled like Dad’s old grilling apron—he used to press garlic with the flat of his fist and curse the coals.
These didn’t sear. They hissed. then sagged. Like they were tired too. I moved them to the cooler side and waited. Ate a pickle straight from the jar. Didn’t wait for the timer. Just watched.
A Few Things I Learned
The yogurt helped. Not sure how—just made things less tight.
The cheddar melted into little edges that crisped, like lace but angry.
Adding thyme didn’t change much. But I liked seeing the green.
They didn’t taste like burgers.
But they tasted like I meant them to.
What I Did With the Extras
Two went into the fridge. One got eaten at the counter. No bun. No plate.
I dipped it in the mustard lid scrapings and watched the grill smoke curl.
Mae reheated one the next day and didn’t ask what was in it.
She just said: “Oh. This one’s good.”
and left the room.
Would I Make It Again?
Not if I had beef.
But if the day felt like this again—yeah.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The smell stuck to my shirt. The grill marks weren’t pretty.
But I made them with my hands. And they held together. That counts.
If you want something messier, I did a version of Martha’s cheesy leek bake last winter that nearly broke the oven—but worth it.
FAQs
Yeah. they’ll hold up. But the cheese gets weird and the texture turns a little… shy. Still edible. Still burger-ish.
Yeah. they’ll hold up. But the cheese gets weird and the texture turns a little… shy. Still edible. Still burger-ish.
Only if she’s coming over for dinner. Otherwise, cheddar works. So does whatever cheese is judging you from the fridge drawer.
Totally. Cast iron pan. Medium heat. Just crack a window unless you want the whole place to smell like July.
I had mine with mustard and a pickle. Mae grabbed a bag of chips and said “this counts, right?” It did. It does.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Roast Turkey
- Martha Stewart Stuffed Turkey
- Martha Stewart Roasted Turkey Breast
- Martha Stewart Turkey Meatloaf
Martha Stewart Turkey Burger
Description
Made them with cheddar and defiance. Ate them without apology.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Prepare the mixture: Toss the turkey into the old green Pyrex—still smells like cake batter from last week. Add the cheese, shallots, scallions, yogurt, mustard, garlic, thyme. Don’t bother measuring the salt, just trust your hand. Use a fork at first like Her Highness says, then switch to your hands when it starts feeling too clean. It’s meant to be a little messy.
- Form the patties: Make four uneven discs. Press a little dent in the middle with your thumb—someone once told me it helps. I never remember who. They’ll feel soft and unsure. That’s fine. So was I, that day.
- Oil the grill and sear the patties: Heat the grill high—till it hisses back at you. Oil the grates. Drop the patties like you mean it. Let them sear for about 2 minutes a side—don’t touch. Don’t peek. Just listen for the sizzle. That’s how you know they’re ready to move.
- Finish cooking on a cooler spot: Slide them over to the low side. Lid down. Let them go slow—about 7 to 10 minutes a side. Don’t trust the timer. Trust the way the juice runs clear and they stop looking nervous. Pull one, break it open with your fingers, taste. If it bites back, give it another minute. If not, it’s ready.
- Eat one standing. Maybe over the sink. Maybe barefoot. Maybe mad. Doesn’t matter.