Why I’m Taking Every Shortcut Possible for Thanksgiving (And You Should, Too)

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, but it’s also a double-edged sword. It conjures warm memories of family, friends, tantalizing smells, delicious food, and full bellies. But sneaking up behind these thoughts is a low level of dread. What dishes will I make this year? How many days ahead do I need to start cooking? Am I finally going to make that 15-step Bon Appétit recipe? If I don’t, how will I top last year?

We all know these conflicting feelings—excitement and dread. It seems unavoidable, just an unspoken requirement of Thanksgiving. But my family and I are here to tell you, it doesn’t have to be that way. We gave up on impressing each other a long time ago, and now our Thanksgivings are better than ever.

I come from a Southern family, and we love nothing more than sitting down to a good meal together. Whether it’s Christmas, a birthday, or just a long weekend, the first thing we decide is what to eat. That means Thanksgiving, a holiday almost entirely about a singular meal, is a big one.

For a couple of years growing up, my mom made homemade Parker House rolls for the big day. She made the dough from scratch, let it proof, carefully shaped each roll, let it proof again, brushed the rolls with butter, and baked them just before the meal. It required so much care and careful timing, all while making other dishes and having three feral kids in her hair. They were delicious and made the house smell like magic.

When she found out the whole family preferred frozen Sister Schubert rolls, she was hurt at first. But then she realized all she had to do was grab a package at the supermarket and toss them in the oven when it was almost time to eat. What a relief.

My aunt learned the same lesson years ago when she hosted Thanksgiving at her Brooklyn brownstone. She had never hosted family before, and her father and mother, sister (my mom), and nieces (my sister and I) all travelled from our tiny Tennessee town to the Big Apple. It was the one and only time my grandfather went to NYC, so my aunt certainly felt the pressure to provide a good experience.

This 100% went to her head. My aunt loves good food and loves to cook, and in her ambition to host a perfect meal for her parents, she whipped up some recipes that she had never made before, a couple of which came from the pages of Saveur. When we sat down to dinner a couple of hours later than expected, some items were warm, some too hot, and some cold.

I don’t remember much else about the meal except for one dish. In an effort to get something green but elevated on the plate, she made a broccoli and spinach purée. My grandparents took a bite and my grandmother, the most polite person I’ve ever known, said, “You don’t ever have to make that for me again.” That was the nicest way she could say it.

One thing to know about my family: we love to tell tales. And when we get a good one, we tell it over and over and over again. This is one of those tales. Even though my grandmother is no longer with us, we still quote her whenever we don’t like a food.

Each of us has learned over time that fancy doesn’t necessarily mean better. Once you realize that it’s not actually important to impress your family and friends at Thanksgiving, but rather give them what they want, it takes the pressure off. Just like you, they want nostalgia and comfort.

These days, my family is practical when it comes to the holiday, but that doesn’t mean the meal isn’t wonderful. No one makes a homemade pie crust; it’s too finicky and store-bought is just fine for our pumpkin or pecan pie. Our cornbread stuffing (or, as we call it, dressing) uses leftover cornbread and stuffing mix along with store-bought chicken broth. The green bean casserole is the classic version using cream of mushroom soup because, at the end of the day, that’s what everyone really wants.

We don’t worry about impressing each other, and instead make the dishes everyone craves for this once-a-year special meal. We welcome each other with open arms, cackle as we tell our same old tales, and walk away with full bellies and full hearts. Now that’s Thanksgiving.