a restaurant thanksgiving

growth, acceptance + martinis

The first time I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner, it was December. I was 20-years-old, freezing my ass off at college in Buffalo, NY, and decided it would be a great idea to gather a large group of friends to partake in a belated holiday feast in the very old house I shared with several roommates.

Being that I was twenty (and a little drunk), I felt confident enough to serve my guests a 21 lb turkey — the only one left at Wegmans post-actual-Thanksgiving. I roasted this enormous bird all day in my very old house’s very old oven, and once my guests were assembled at the table, I ceremoniously removed my glistening, golden triumph from the oven and presented it with fanfare.

It was only after everyone finished cheering at my feat, that I carved into what turned out to be a completely raw turkey.

I could have (and most likely would have, under normal circumstances) laughed off the failure (fowl-ure?) of this December Thanksgiving. But I couldn’t. Not that year.

Because I wasn’t just hosting the party for fun. I was hosting it in desperation, attempting to make up for the fact that I hadn’t yet had the Thanksgiving of my dreams.

You see, that year, my real Thanksgiving had been in a restaurant - the sort of choice that makes sense for the party of three (mom, nana, me) that comprises my core Thanksgiving crew each year. But I didn’t want to have a restaurant Thanksgiving. I wanted to give myself the kind of Thanksgiving that is in a house, filled with people, music, laughter, family and ideally a fully cooked turkey.

For small families, holidays can feel ambivalent, even arbitrary – and this can be exciting in some ways. We get to be the guest stars in other family fetes without having to deal with their baggage. It’s nice to feel welcome at the table but not so welcome that you feel compelled to answer “Yes, I’m still single!” to the queries of nosy relatives.

In other ways, though, it makes me sad. So sad, that I used to white-knuckle resist the inevitable, either by insisting I take on the overwhelming responsibility of cooking everything myself, or scrambling to try to secure a plan at the last minute.

For an only child with no children or partner, who also has a grandmother like my grandmother, this tension around Thanksgiving is rooted in a sense that I have failed in creating a perfect holiday celebration because I have failed in securing a family of my own. Maybe that’s why I have worked so hard to create an ideal holiday experience (of which there is really no such thing).

I would fantasize about what it might look like when I inevitably met someone and started celebrating holidays with their perfect, massive family, and how cinematic that experience would be for me and for my little family. Because this is my fantasy, this celebration usually happened in a Nancy Meyers kitchen and Meryl Streep would undoubtedly be in attendance.

Before you people with big families start rolling your eyes, understand that I am aware that most Thanksgivings are not like this. Maybe you already know that it’s not your responsibility to give your family a Nancy Meyers Thanksgiving. Maybe you realized before me that your life is the life you’re living right now, not the life you’ve been led to believe is the “right” one to have.

The more I hear about other people’s Thanksgiving, the more I understand that Meryl Streep is not in attendance, the less interested I am in the fantasy.

These days I accept and appreciate (even enjoy!) my life without waiting for something or someone to make my Thanksgiving day, and every other other day, feel complete.

I love my little complicated family. I love that we have a reservation for three at a steakhouse this year. I love that I plan to drink a giant, ice-cold martini and eat a perfectly medium rare steak.

I also love that I have a chosen family that I will join later and debrief about everything that made me laugh, cringe and cry about my little family and our little Thanksgiving.

At this point in my life, 15 years after that cold-Turkey Thanksgiving in Buffalo, I know that it is not my responsibility to do anything except exist, be kind, and be accepting (if not understanding) of my well-meaning and misguided grandmother.

I am thankful for all of it, the way it is. Today. I hope that wherever you are, however you’re spending your Thanksgivings, you’re feeling some gratitude, too. If not, an ice-cold martini should do the trick.

in any event:

xo,

Jamie