A Thanksgiving Day Guide for Americans of Class and Taste

From my earliest memories, Thanksgiving meant a few important things: 1) I got to eat a turkey leg the size of my head at the dining room table while the adults talked about adult things, which is where, with my opinions, I always felt that I belonged, 2) a house packed with family, which meant my grandma’s spiritually psychedelic cherry-based Jell-O dish, hide-and-seek with my cousins in the basement, and ghost stories over coffee after the sun set and my aunt was totally blasted, and finally 3) yelling. Like, truly an insane amount of yelling, actually, now that I sit here and think about it, as my mom and dad battled for dominance in the kitchen. But today, I am my family’s Thanksgiving Day lord commander (to general relief).

I have been responsible for Thanksgiving dinner for a few years now, and while I accept requests, and polite feedback, I do not tolerate bullshit. My parents are out of the kitchen. I am in charge of the menu. There is still, somehow, a lot of fighting.

This is a piece for people who either already own responsibility for hosting Thanksgiving, would like to take that responsibility over, or would like to quietly judge whoever in their home’s in charge. Thoughts on the proper — the CORRECT — holiday menu, tips for success, and a look inside my kitchen.

Enjoy.

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A feast. About a week ago, I took a spin around the internet and noticed the press was already screwing up my holiday. Mercifully, the late 20-teens era “how to murder your racist uncle at Thanksgiving” think pieces have finally dried up (the racist uncles won), with the great majority of writers pivoting to a tedious focus on the cost of Thanksgiving dinner (down this year, the press begrudgingly accepts). Also, all of your cousins are now stoned at the table, according to The Wall Street Journal, and there was of course a bit on PETA. In a recent fun and festive display of mental illness, the animal rights activist group protested America’s annual turkey mass murder with two inflatable raw birds next to a man in a flesh suit curled up like he was about to get railed, and a banner that read “we’re all the same.” Are we?

Anyway, PETA cooking up some crazy stunt in the comedic / activist uncanny valley is just tradition at this point, and not at all the axe I’ve brought to you today for grinding. No, the real problem at hand is the way our press is leaning into recipes, which is honestly borderline treasonous.

Friday, on its front page, The New York Times briefly framed this absurd potato leek gratin as a smash hit critical new side for your table. In other words, we’re either discussing a second white potato dish, a concept one writer openly endorsed with no apparent sense of shame (in this otherwise pretty cute / fun collection of holiday hot takes), or the unthinkable replacement of mashed. We’re also talking cream, now, which means we’re up to three, or possibly four cream-based dishes on the table. What editor greenlit this? Where is the respect for the rest of the plate? Where is the balance, or sense of style? What is this all adding up to, and do you even care?

These writers are out of control.