Our favorite Thanksgiving traditions

Editor's Note: This essay appeared in Cognoscenti's newsletter of ideas and opinions, delivered weekly on Sundays. To become a subscriber, sign up here.

For the moment, set aside any worries you may have about the state of American democracy or the nasty political argument that may break out between your Uncle Marty and Aunt Maxine over turkey next week, and instead think about stuffing. Cranberry sauce. The Macy’s Day Parade.

We did a fun thing this week. We asked Cog readers – including many of you – to send in their favorite Thanksgiving recipes and traditions. People's responses were so enthusiastic we ended up publishing two posts – one highlighting favorite traditions, another featuring nine detailed recipes.

Your Cog editors didn’t include our own experiences in those posts, so we’re sharing them here. In alphabetical order.

I grew up with a very traditional Thanksgiving experience, and that’s what I’m passing on to my kids. After we run in our town’s turkey trot, we’ll wander over to the high school football game (with a mug of hot coffee in tow) before we travel to my parents’ house in Old Wethersfield, Conn. where we’ll celebrate the holiday with some of my extended family. I did some version of this run-of-show when I was a kid, too, except as a teenager I probably put a lot more thought into selecting the exact right wool sweater / puffy vest combination.

Once at my folks’ house, I can almost guarantee you two things will happen. First, I’ll be drafted into “making the mushrooms” which I will complain about but ultimately enjoy. It involves slicing a near-mountain of mushrooms, salting them to near oblivion, then sauteing them for at least 45 minutes in absurd amounts of garlic, butter, wine and parsley until each piece is a tiny brown greasy delicious nub. The process may or may not include my mom, aunts and me belting Marvin Gaye into turkey basters as we cook. The second thing? On Friday, as long as the weather is decent, there will almost certainly be a family “football” game in the backyard. My dad will lay out the sidelines with flour. And he’ll draw up the “Statue of Liberty” play to be executed by one of the grandkids. This old chestnut of a play will win the game in a stunning come-from-behind victory. Happens every year.

I grew up in the military, a job that often requires people to live far from family. My parents always invited soldiers who couldn’t travel home for the holiday to celebrate with us. Sometimes this meant up to a dozen extra guests and serving two different turkeys at two different times to accommodate different duty schedules. Today, I do my best to continue this tradition. When my husband, our three children (who are all young adults now) and I don’t travel for Thanksgiving, we invite international students who want to experience this quintessentially American holiday into our home.

This year we’ll be joined by Saeed from Iran, Saya from India and Raisa from Bangladesh. Sharing food and fellowship with total strangers brings out the best in us. We’re more patient with each other, more thoughtful about how we speak at the table, more grateful for all of our many gifts. We learn about our guests’ cultures while they learn about ours, and we’re all a little disappointed when the celebration comes to an end.

I sometimes feel like a sitcom character running between two dates on the same night. A lot of my extended family lives in Virginia, so in the years that we’re able to travel there for Thanksgiving I strategize how to maximize returns (i.e. my favorite dishes) between two gatherings: three generations at my aunt’s house, and my husband’s family who happens to live nearby. After watching the Macy’s parade with my kids, we go to my aunt’s house by noon, where nearly every surface fills with dishes people bring as we visit. “Dinner” means eat anywhere you can find space, and it happens in the early afternoon to leave time for a walk before pie. It’s the traditional, slightly Southern food I grew up with, and I inevitably sample so much that I’m in no shape for sitting down to a second dinner with my husband’s family—not that it stops me from doing just that.

When we’re not able to be there, like this year, someone will send me a photo of a long table in my aunt’s dining room, lined end to end with pies. Pumpkin, apple, pecan—sometimes chocolate and sweet potato, too. So this year, in addition to the apple pie my kids and I make, and the pumpkin one my husband bakes, I may have to buy one or two or four more. A pie per person? Seems like a good plan.

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