Taking a pass on the groaning holiday table
I’ll be setting my holiday table for what I think we are all craving right now: the time and space to really be together. (Photo source: Brett Jordan on Unsplash)
Thanksgiving is overrated. There, I’ve said it.
I’m not talking about the part of the holiday where we gather as family and friends for a leisurely afternoon of eating, talking, laughing, and maybe even arguing. (Because what’s a Thanksgiving without a little controversy?) That part is, if anything, underrated.
“...this holiday season...many of us are deeply craving fellowship, in whatever form it can take.”
In normal times, our busy everyday lives can give short shrift to the idea of lingering around a meal. Holidays can be among the few times we allow ourselves to indulge. In the not-so-normal times of this holiday season, a better part of a year into stingy COVID social restrictions, many of us are deeply craving fellowship, whether around a table or in whatever form it can take.
No, the part of holiday cooking that I find overrated is the wild array of de rigeur dishes—the stuffing, the gravy, the cranberry sauce, multiple veggie sides, and, oh yeah, the huge bird—creating chaos in the kitchen, on the table, and even in the belly.
A medieval holiday tradition, the feast of the peacock.
To me, the groaning Thanksgiving table shares more in common with a gluttonous medieval feast than the romanticized Wampanoag-Pilgrim harvest celebration it pretends to honor. Given our current environmental challenges and the horrors of our industrial agriculture system, the turkey-centric feast feels anachronistic from an ethical standpoint, too. On top of all that, I rarely feel well at the end of the meal. (And yes, I know, that roiling tummy is part of the ritual too, right?)
“The late-arriving contributions from guests that need to be decanted, heated or cooled just when the proverbial sh*t is hitting the fan. ”
More troubling to me than the chaotic table is the even more chaotic kitchen. The hours spent procuring, chopping, and prepping so many different ingredients: the aromatics and fresh herbs, the parade of vegetables, the star anise for this year’s cranberry sauce, the bottle of marsala for this year’s gravy...the list goes on. The multitude of dishes competing for refrigerator, burner, and oven space. The mad scramble to serve all of the dishes, not least the gravy, at the right temperature and at the same time. The late-arriving contributions from guests that need to be decanted, heated or cooled just when the proverbial sh*t is hitting the fan. And, last but not least, the piles of messy cutting boards, greasy roasting pans and pots, and grimy serving dishes waiting at the end of it all.
I’ve spent years trying to convince my Thanksgiving regulars to go off-script. I’ve suggested everything from a crab-feed, to take-out, to a restaurant buffet where someone else does the cooking and cleaning. Some years I’ve succeeded, but most years I’ve succumbed to the deeply worn grooves of convention.
An elegantly rustic white bean casserole that wraps all the traditional flavors within a single, harmonious, fuss-free dish. See recipe.
This year, having spent long hours in the kitchen almost every day since March, I’m gunning for maximum gustatory pleasure and minimum chaos. I don’t believe there needs to be a trade-off. I’ll be making the case for an elegantly rustic white bean casserole that wraps all the traditional Thanksgiving elements---hearty proteins and carbs, richness, sweet and tart flavors, and aromatics like garlic, onions and herbs---within a single, harmonious, fuss-free dish. It also happens to be plant-rich and meat-free, honoring some important values and demonstrating that a large bird doesn’t need to be involved at all.
The one-dish approach, complemented by a few appetizers, a simple salad, and a dessert or two (I usually source from the pros at my favorite bakery), seems equally compelling for all our holidays this year, whether we are juggling gift-giving, decorating the house, or are just lucky enough to be able to host guests. Instead of chaotic excess, I’ll be setting my holiday table for what I think we are all craving right now: the time and space to really be together.
Susan Miller-Davis is author of the forthcoming What’s for Dinner: Plant-rich feasts for any occasion and Principal of Infinite Table
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