Why I’m Reaching for a Can Opener This Thanksgiving (And You Should, Too)

A perfectly roasted turkey is the emblem of Thanksgiving, but for me, the must-have dish on the holiday table is cranberry sauce—specifically the smooth, wobbly, jellied kind. It’s the ideal counterpart to all of the savory components on a properly outfitted plate, offering sweetness and smoosh.

As an avid home canner and local fruit enthusiast, I’ve made cranberry sauce from scratch every-which-way. I’ve made relishes and chutneys, whole-berry and smooth sauces, and have spiked them with everything from orange to cardamom to ginger over the years. I’ve even tromped through my neighbors’ cranberry bog to harvest my own precious orbs to cook with, and have a whole collection of vintage copper Jell-O molds hanging on my wall that are perfect for jellied sauce.

Which is why it might surprise you to hear that this year, I’m going with the canned stuff. Yes, the ubiquitous, much-beloved Ocean Spray can! Long may it reign! It was always on our holiday table growing up, and I’m beginning to see why. It’s so perfectly consistent, comforting, and nostalgic to me now—not to mention there’s zero effort required.

I will be hosting my mom and sister for a first Thanksgiving in my new home here in Maine this year, and I want to keep things easy and low-stress this time around. As a longtime recipe developer, I’ve quite famously executed some really over-the-top, ambitious Thanksgiving menus over the years.

I’ve smoked whole turkeys outside over the grill for hours (even in the rain and snow). I’ve lovingly shaped from-scratch pumpkin challah on years when Thanksgiving has met up with Hanukkah (Thanksgivukkah, a wonderful holiday). I’ve carefully packed my homegrown honeynut squashes from the garden in newspaper to last until the big meal, roasting them off into teeny-tiny individual portions for guests. I’ve painstakingly decorated my homemade pies with fancy leaf cutouts and intricate braids. And my cacio e pepe potato dinner rolls are always in demand, keeping my mixer humming.

And while I’m proud of those creations, I’m ready for a new chapter. One that embraces ease over intricacy, joy over pressure. My mom lovingly restored an antique kitchen table for me for my new place, and this year I don’t need it to be decked out like a magazine—I just want to sit down and enjoy the meal together without being completely exhausted.

So, that means leaning in to ingredients and dishes that meet me halfway (or all of the way!). Mom’s baking an apple pie, so I can make an easy no-bake friend to go along with it on the dessert table. We’re just three people, so why would I fuss with roasting a whole bird when a simple turkey breast will do nicely? Stove Top stuffing, don’t mind if I do.

And yes, of course, that can of cranberry sauce (team jellied forever). I look forward to gathering around my little kitchen table just the three of us, opening up a can, and emptying it with that satisfying “thhhhhwwwack” sound.

After admiring its perfectly formed ridges, I’ll cut that ruby goodness into tidy little circles, fan them out in a dish, and focus on giving thanks for what really matters—who’s around the table with me.