It was already too warm for April. The kind of day where the kitchen feels sticky before you even preheat the oven. I wasn’t planning to make anything. I was going to clean the windows. I was going to write Mae back. But I opened the fridge and the goat cheese was looking at me.
Not in a moldy way. In a you forgot about me way.
And the mushrooms had been there since Sunday. Still firm. Mostly.
Her Highness calls them “white button mushrooms” in this one. Of course she does.
I pulled out the old green Pyrex bowl, the one with the chip like a bitten nail, and said it out loud:
“Stuffed mushrooms. Okay.”
Like it was a dare.
What The Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is compact, balanced, and smugly precise. She pulses garlic and bread into a soft crumb, whirls goat cheese with parsley and a flick of red pepper. The mushrooms are scrubbed. The filling is spooned. The top is rolled in the reserved breadcrumbs like a final, perfect hat. Fifteen to twenty minutes later, they’re browned and polite.
It’s a cocktail hour food. She knows it. She leans into that.
A tray of them. Linen napkins. A room that doesn’t smell like you left the window open overnight.
(Not mine.)
What I Did Differently
I didn’t have white sandwich bread. I used the end of a seeded boule from two days ago and regretted it halfway through—the seeds threw off the texture but not the taste.
And I added lemon zest. Not planned. I zested the lemon for something else, then tapped the zester against the bowl and it fell in. It stayed.
I didn’t use a food processor. Mine’s in the basement. Too many cords. I used a fork and my fingers. It felt right.
(Also, the garlic didn’t mince evenly. It sort of… hid. But I like that.)
How It Actually Happened in My Kitchen
I dropped the first mushroom. Slid right off the spoon when I was trying to stuff it. Rolled under the fridge. Gone.
Mae used to help me with these, once. Called them “cheese buttons” and always left one unfilled like it was a secret.
She wasn’t here today. But I filled one with nothing anyway. Habit.
The goat cheese crumbled like wet snow. I pressed it together with the parsley—flat-leaf, not curly, because curly makes me itch for some reason. The breadcrumbs weren’t fine, but they were enthusiastic. The kind of crunch that shows up uninvited.
The oven clicked louder than I remember. Probably the heat. Probably the silence.
I forgot to salt the mushroom caps. Realized it while they were already baking. Opened the door. Sprinkled them anyway. Not even gently.
They hissed back.
A Few Things I Learned
The filling tastes better a little cold. It has edge. Warm, it softens into something nearly sweet.
The breadcrumbs need more fat if your bread’s too dry. Mine browned but didn’t glow.
The red pepper was quiet. The lemon wasn’t. I didn’t mind.
What I Did With the Extras
Ate four standing at the counter. The rest I packed in a cracked Tupperware that still smells like curry.
Might put them on toast tomorrow.
Might forget.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah. But only when the house is too quiet. They give it something to say.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The oven’s off now.
The goat cheese is gone.
The air feels less still.
That’s enough.
This Reminded Me of the Cheddar Tart I Burnt the Week Mae Left for College. Crumblier. Sharper. Same Silence.
FAQs
Yeah. stuff ’em and chill ’em—just don’t breadcrumb until right before. soggy tops are a betrayal.
Sure, but why would you. okay fine—ricotta works. or feta if you’re feeling bold. but goat hits different.
Nope. i didn’t use mine. fork, fingers, maybe a spoon if you’re feeling elegant.
the tops, a little. the bottoms, never. if they crunch underneath, your oven betrayed you.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Goat-cheese Stuffed Mushrooms
Description
Creamy, crumbly, and louder than they look. I made them to fill the quiet.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the filling: crumbled the goat cheese into a green bowl that’s older than my knees. added chopped parsley, flakes of red pepper, one clove of garlic that fought back. forgot the salt—added it later. mashed it all with a fork until it held together like a thought.
- Prep the crumbs: tore up the bread—mine had seeds, not ideal. blitzed it with the rest of the garlic in the food processor i didn’t want to wash. too loud. saved half for topping, scattered the rest like regret.
- Fill the mushrooms: snapped the stems, wiped the caps with a damp towel that still smells like last week’s curry. spooned in the goat mess, packed it down with a thumb. rolled each one facedown in the crumbs. they stuck, mostly.
- Bake until they soften: lined them up like soldiers on a slick of oil. oven at 400, hot and impatient. fifteen minutes. maybe eighteen. the breadcrumbs browned. the cheese puffed. the smell made me forget what time it was.
- Finish and forget: let them sit on the tray while i looked for a clean plate. didn’t find one. ate three with my fingers, burnt my tongue. mae’s not home, so i didn’t share.