On Thanksgiving
An unexpected essay!
Welcome to the Thanksgiving post, which sort of came out of nowhere. The post I had originally planned for this week, On Beans, will land in your inbox next Tuesday instead. On Friday, everyone (!) will receive a recipe for a drink because let’s face it—we’ll all need one by then.
Hello again from a woman who has boldly decided to deviate from her carefully constructed editorial calendar. As I was adding photos and queuing up today’s post (On Beans!), I realized that despite my protestations, I actually *do* have something to say about Thanksgiving. Here it is!
People assume that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday—that I host, cook, develop a menu, reign supreme, bask in glory, and call it a day. In truth, I’ve never hosted (apart from one Friendsgiving that nearly killed me) and though I have a lot of opinions, they are mostly unqualified and annoying, as most opinions from bystanders tend to be.
I am not the kind of person who will ever present you with a Thanksgiving menu. I don’t believe in it, actually—a traditional Thanksgiving menu, that is. I definitely believe in presenting people with menus. I think that Thanksgiving as a menu is kind of overrated and full of mostly really boring foods. You don’t need to eat turkey. You don’t need pumpkin pie. Trust me. I’ve been avoiding turkey for ten years now, and pumpkin pie for even longer, and the holidays are just as special.
In developing about the platonic ideal Thanksgiving menu (again: I’m not hosting, not cooking, etc, etc), I’ve been scrolling back mentally to what I’ve made lately. There have been quite a few dishes that Colin and I have marked as “would be a great Thanksgiving dish” because again, I’m always chasing what I’m not about to do (cook a whole Thanksgiving dinner). Thinking about those dishes gave me pause. There’s no direct comparison from them to the ones that typically show up on tables across America. It’s just that they were full of texture, flavor, seasonality, and excitement—all things that make food worth eating and talking about later. At the end of the day, those are the qualities I hope show up on your table this year in one way or another.
As for the rest of the day: I hope you eat something you made and feel proud of yourself. I hope that you’re allowed to cook whatever things sound good to you rather than what you are expected to make. I hope you eat a fresh, crunchy, raw vegetable. I hope your pies set and your biscuits flake, and I hope your gravy is smooth without needing to be strained.
I hope you sit at a table somewhere with people you love, and I hope you eat something that makes you think of someone you love who isn’t here anymore. I hope you have a glass of wine or sparkling cider or whatever your celebratory drink of choice is. I hope you remember to drink water and take lots of deep breaths.
I hope that you look around you and keep a sense of wonder. This time of year, which I jokingly (but not so jokingly?) call the Holidaze, can be complicated and difficult, stressful and clouded. I hope you can find the space and time, even if it’s for five minutes as you scrape potatoes off of the bottom of a pan, to think about all for which you can give thanks.
One thing is for sure: I’m thankful for you all and this community. See you back here on Friday for a well-deserved cocktail, and next week for an essay on my favorite food: beans! As a pre-Black Friday reminder, if you love my travel photography and want it hanging in your home, you can buy it on Society6, which is having some crazy insane sales this week.
This whole paragraph was perfect: "I hope you sit at a table somewhere with people you love, and I hope you eat something that makes you think of someone you love who isn’t here anymore."
I had a record number of Friendsgivings teed up day after day this year, hosted by all the American expats I know who are thousands of miles away from family, and breathing slowly and taking it all in was super difficult to do. Great reminder. :)