Giving thanks

As we get ready to officially commence the holiday season, I’m particularly thankful for one thing this year: I don’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

Or, more accurately, I’m finally lucky enough to have a socially acceptable excuse not to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

Since I’m still recovering from hip replacement surgery in late October, no one expects me to start setting the table today or haul a 20-pound, free-range, organic turkey into the oven at dawn on Thursday (after having let it soak in a flavorful brine for several days) or perfectly time the completion of countless side dishes so they’re all piping hot at the same precise moment.

Truth be told, I haven’t cooked an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself for years. Some time ago, I realized that, not only do I not like eating turkey, I hate cooking it since no matter what “tricks” you read about online or hear about from friends, the ultimate result is somewhat of a crapshoot. White meat that’s either dry as dust or gratifyingly juicy. Dark meat that’s either fully cooked or disturbingly pink. Turkey skin that’s either golden brown like the centerpiece of a Norman Rockwell painting or a darker shade of burnt. You have to cook a LOT of turkeys to get it right every single time, and my one bird a year wasn’t cutting it. So, at some point, I outsourced the turkey preparation to the pros, which turned out to be delightfully easy and (I’m not afraid to admit) more consistently delicious.

Which naturally became the slippery slope to outsourcing the entire meal.

My boys were both serious basketball players and by the time they hit middle school, their season officially started on November 1. For many years, I was going to their games the Tuesday or Wednesday before the big day, not staging the preparations for the Brussels sprouts or carrots. And for many of those years, I was also driving to a special tournament on the Friday and Saturday after the holiday, not recovering from having spent days creating a veritable feast.

The stark reality is—in my observed experience anyway—Thanksgiving (like most holidays) is still largely a woman’s “job.” Not in every family. But for most of the people I know, the decorating and the search for recipes and the lists and the shopping and the pre-cooking and the early chopping to “get ahead of things” are primarily the responsibility of the women in the family. My husband and two sons help, of course. They consult on the menu and set the table and carry chairs and put pans in and out of the oven at my request. But it’s always at my request. All the planning and much of the execution falls on me as I try to live up to the Rockwellian ideal of a classic American Thanksgiving that I grew up with.

But here’s the thing.

It’s really hard to live up to that ideal. Parenting is a lot more demanding now than in the 1970s when I was young. You can’t send your kids out to play for three hours after school unsupervised so you can iron the special tablecloth; in some places, you’d get arrested for doing that. In the lead up to Thanksgiving these days, you’re still expected to oversee mountains of homework (also not a ‘70s thing) and chaperone school events and show up at your kids’ games. Oh—and also do all your other work.

Here’s the other thing.

Living up to the ideal isn’t much fun. Making a perfect pie crust can be hard if you don’t do it all the time. (See turkey above.) Peeling a few potatoes is no big deal; peeling a mountain of potatoes for a dinner for fifteen is mind numbing. And let’s not even talk about the challenge—and heartbreak—of flavorful, hot, lump-free, thick-but-not-too-thick gravy. Even guided by countless helpful suggestions from cooking columns and Instagram influencers in the weeks leading up to the holiday, Thanksgiving can mean days of preparation for a meal that, after preliminary appetizers if you’re crazy enough to offer them, will be devoured in forty-five minutes, sixty if you’re lucky.

For many years, my solution was to make the dishes I like to cook (stuffing, butternut squash, green beans) and buy the rest. But honestly, even that became a drag. Because while my family enjoyed repeats of The Office or the Star Wars trilogy in the living room, I’d be stuck in the kitchen alone, eyes glued to a frying pan, making sure some sliced almonds were perfectly toasted but not overdone.

Having recently come to the realization that the Covid lockdowns killed most of my desire to cook, I’m trying to let go of any shame in admitting now I buy it all. No more debates about regular potatoes versus sweet, canned cranberry sauce versus fresh; we order a little of both, and everyone gets to have their favorites. And no more mom alone in the kitchen, missing all the best stuff.

Needless to say, some people make fun of me for not even trying to channel a little Martha Stewart- or Ina Garten-level enthusiasm for this most American of days. I suspect others sit in judgment and think I’m awful or lazy or a pathetic wife/mother. But here’s the final thing. Making Thanksgiving dinner is a ton of work, and unless you snag an invite to someone else’s house, your only other option is to eat out. And if the alternative is a restaurant, my family prefers to be at home, lounging around in casual clothes and enjoying a second piece of pie while watching the big game. Buying dinner is a win for all of us.

For those of you still rolling your eyes at all my rationalizations, keep in mind that just serving Thanksgiving dinner is a monumental task, even for a small gathering. You still have to at least try to get all the dishes hot at the same time. You still have to pack up leftovers and hand wash the wine glasses and scrub a bunch of pans. You still have to make a plan. No, the cornbread stuffing won’t be exactly like the one your grandmother used to make. But you also won’t end up crying alone in the kitchen the night before the holiday, exhausted, because raw turkey juice and brine had leaked all over the refrigerator.

Besides, you can always make your grandmother’s cornbread stuffing another time.