I had a childhood friend who always went out for Chinese food on Thanksgiving Day. My twelve-year-old brain couldn’t imagine restaurants being open that day, and I really couldn’t imagine not having what I considered ‘real Thanksgiving food.’ I found their tradition wildly exotic. They were British, and the fact that they were eating cream cheese wontons on Thanksgiving while having witty banter in charming accents was an embarrassment of riches. Another part of me, a tiny little shameful part of me, was very jealous. Because I don’t like turkey but have had an ongoing love affair with wontons. I still don’t like turkey. Blech.
I know. SO controversial.
As the years have gone by and my Thanksgivings have stacked up on top of one another like pancakes (mmmm pancakes) many things have changed. The food universe has tried to foist new twists on the main meal. Deep Fried Turkey. Brined Turkey. Grilled Turkey. Smoked Turkey. Tofurkey for those who don’t eat meat. Turducken for those who want all their meats rolled into one mind-boggling nesting doll situation.
It's all so turkey-focused. But let’s be serious. Many who celebrate are there at the table for the sides. Some for the drama. But many more for the glorious sides. There is no other meal that boasts so many sides that involve so much butter. Butter makes the people happy. And it is no wonder everyone is nearly ill after the meal because the modern human body simply isn’t designed to eat a protein surrounded by nine starchy sides.
Following an absolute guaranteed overeating marathon is another tradition I refuse to participate in. Black Friday. As a child, I remember seeing people camping out in tents in parking lots of various big box stores to buy televisions and speakers and gaming consoles. When interviewed on local networks their thrill about landing the deal of the year made me so excited for them. I was happy they braved the cold to save $100 on their dream television. Until I could be one of them. By then, I preferred a full day of pajamas, movies on my old crap tv, a good book, and laying on the couch.
Holiday weekends bring out the best and worst in people. One of my friends always says, “Ah, the holidays, when nobody gets their way.” And this is true because to be with your people, be part of a family, gather with any other humans is the definition of compromise. Everyone is likely to have different expectations and/or thereby not have those expectations met.
We have Thanksgiving with our “extended extended” family. Together we weathered the joyful adjustment of adding people and the heartbreaking adjustment of losing people at our collective table. Everyone gets along, and it is laid back and enjoyable, and a ‘come as you are’ afternoon. We like to say our secret is the fact we aren’t related by blood. Perhaps that is it. We don’t have axes to grind going back three generations because we don’t go back three generations. We have far-reaching opinions in the room on everything from politics to how cranberries should be prepared. Which is ridiculous because obviously fresh is best cooked on the stove with sugar added and hand stirred by MY mother.
As we gather with friends, families and strangers, maybe we agree to not debate the biggest things. Leave the turkey out of it. No need to arm wrestle over the wishbone. Or rehash something that happened a decade ago. Keeping it simple keeps it simple. Gather. Have gratitude. Focus on the side dishes. And if there is tension at the table, serve the pie. Lots of it. All of it. Pie softens the edges of the toughest personalities at any table.
Ask me how I know.
Jen Fortner is a freelance writer who enjoys asking friends and strangers far too many questions. She spends her spare time sitting in inclement weather watching youth sports, traveling, cooking, and searching for the very best baked goods. She lives in Shorewood with her husband, three children and the most spoiled dog.