From my earliest memories, Thanksgiving meant a few important things: 1) I got to eat a turkey leg the size of my head at the dining room table while the adults talked about adult things, which is where, with my opinions, I always felt that I belonged, 2) a house packed with family, which meant my grandma’s spiritually psychedelic cherry-based Jell-O dish, hide-and-seek with my cousins in the basement, and ghost stories over coffee after the sun set and my aunt was totally blasted, and finally 3) yelling. Like, truly an insane amount of yelling, actually, now that I sit here and think about it, as my mom and dad battled for dominance in the kitchen. But today, I am my family’s Thanksgiving Day lord commander (to general relief).

I have been responsible for Thanksgiving dinner for a few years now, and while I accept requests, and polite feedback, I do not tolerate bullshit. My parents are out of the kitchen. I am in charge of the menu. There is still, somehow, a lot of fighting.

This is a piece for people who either already own responsibility for hosting Thanksgiving, would like to take that responsibility over, or would like to quietly judge whoever in their home’s in charge. Thoughts on the proper — the CORRECT — holiday menu, tips for success, and a look inside my kitchen.

Enjoy.

…

A feast. About a week ago, I took a spin around the internet and noticed the press was already screwing up my holiday. Mercifully, the late 20-teens era “how to murder your racist uncle at Thanksgiving” think pieces have finally dried up (the racist uncles won), with the great majority of writers pivoting to a tedious focus on the cost of Thanksgiving dinner (down this year, the press begrudgingly accepts). Also, all of your cousins are now stoned at the table, according to The Wall Street Journal, and there was of course a bit on PETA. In a recent fun and festive display of mental illness, the animal rights activist group protested America’s annual turkey mass murder with two inflatable raw birds next to a man in a flesh suit curled up like he was about to get railed, and a banner that read “we’re all the same.” Are we?

Anyway, PETA cooking up some crazy stunt in the comedic / activist uncanny valley is just tradition at this point, and not at all the axe I’ve brought to you today for grinding. No, the real problem at hand is the way our press is leaning into recipes, which is honestly borderline treasonous.

Friday, on its front page, The New York Times briefly framed this absurd potato leek gratin as a smash hit critical new side for your table. In other words, we’re either discussing a second white potato dish, a concept one writer openly endorsed with no apparent sense of shame (in this otherwise pretty cute / fun collection of holiday hot takes), or the unthinkable replacement of mashed. We’re also talking cream, now, which means we’re up to three, or possibly four cream-based dishes on the table. What editor greenlit this? Where is the respect for the rest of the plate? Where is the balance, or sense of style? What is this all adding up to, and do you even care?

These writers are out of control.

Should we have fried chicken instead of turkey this year, or should we dip out for fast food? “In defense of Tofusgiving?” A porchetta — a fucking porchetta — with green beans and blue cheese? I swear to God I think it’s bad on purpose.

The Weather Channel… ? Kind of gets it. There are norms. There are expectations. “Tradition,” in other words, is a concept we might entertain on this cherished American holiday. And whatever, you’re Chinese or Indian or something and think you need to spice things up. Italians have been throwing a lasagna on the table for decades, it’s fine. Nobody’s calling ICE. You have a hall pass here to innovate. But only within reason. We’re not doing a full plate of curries with a nod to turkey. Turkey is your gravitational center. There are respectful ways to honor the feast while also honoring your family’s culture (a great example from Andy Baraghani here, and this attempt from Ethan Pham doesn’t totally fail over here).

So what makes for a successful feast?

First and foremost this is a feast. This is family around a table eating. Talking about eating. And, critically, remembering past Thanksgivings where there was a lot of eating. That means the food doesn’t only need to be great, it needs to be traditional. It needs to be thematic, and dramatic. It needs to be evocative of those feelings we developed in Kindergarten while shaking a jar of cream in a circle until it turned into butter while wearing Indian headdresses made out of handprint-cutouts from construction paper shaped like little turkey feathers. This is to say, there are rules. This is to say, when a man tells me, as if he’s really edgy, “I don’t like turkey, so we do prime rib,” I become angry. Prime rib on Thanksgiving Day isn’t cute. It’s offensive. No, it isn’t illegal, but, much like porn, if you can’t control yourself you should at least refrain from discussing your disgusting fetishes in public.

The basics are sacred. And fortunately for anyone just dipping their toes into management of the holiday, they are also simple: turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, two vegetable dishes, at least one (but ideally both) of which should be seasonal, and a pie for dessert (apple or pumpkin).

In terms of bread, it either comes out of the oven warm, or you leave it off the table. Don’t waste our time.

From here, you really could call it a day. Your family will tell you that you did a great job, because they love you and they’re happy they got to drink all day while you cooked. But if you love them? It’s time to push yourself.

On top of your base feast, my guidelines:

Something from the national tradition.

At least half of your dishes should honor the original theme / shape, and importantly colors of Thanksgiving: those rich oranges and mustards, those olives, those essential autumn burgandies.

Something from the 20^th century tradition.

We’re honoring our grandparents, here, which is how most of us first accessed Thanksgiving. This will go a long way in terms of the dinner’s emotional resonance. Here, we’re touching on collective generational memory (corn casseroles, weird Jell-O based dishes, and most of the forms that sweet potato takes in the month of November, from pie to that insane marshmallow-topped monstrosity some can’t do without (not for me personally, but obviously acceptable)).

Something from your family tradition.

This is where you work in your regional or ethnic touches, as well as the tradition of your guests. This is where, when a friend or partner or new slam piece joins you for the holiday, you have to let them put out the special spinach dip or whatever it is. I’ve talked to people who eat ambrosia salad unironically — okay, I get it. It is what it is. It’s part of the day.

Make it good, no throwaways.

Partly this means no dishes nobody ever eats, excepting only the most nostalgic. But also this means a variety of colors and textures. We do not need multiple mushes, for example. For years my family would do a mashed potato (white mush), a mashed sweet potato (orange mush), a mashed turnip (pale yellow mush), and an over-stocked stuffing that turned into a kind of putty (brown mush). The tastes were individually fine, but the experience was… less than ideal. A successful meal is a series of textures and colors, complimentary but different. We’re not doing hospital food here jfc. Bangers only.

Abundance.

A crowded overflowing kind of table is canon. Your guests have to go “wow,” “holy shit,” “that is a lot of food.” Your mom has to chase people out of the house with leftovers wrapped in aluminum foil. That night, everyone has to say, “I am so stuffed, I am in pain, if I eat another bite I will die.” And then you all have to have a sandwich.

Subscribe now

NOW. Onto my method.

At my house, Thanksgiving is a two-day process.

Wednesday, I’m focused on: the bird, the stock, the stuffing, and this year I’ll be focusing on a spinach pie (controversial, which I’ll get to in a moment, and non-standard for my Thanksgiving spread).

For the bird, we’re brining. I’ve done wet brines (if you’re a beginner, just pick up a kit from the grocery store) and simple dry brines (literally just aggressively coat your turkey in salt a day before roasting), and think either direction is fine. You need at least a day here, but be sure to take that day. Some kind of brining is essential. Achieving delicious white meat on a turkey is hard no matter what. You at least want to give yourself a fighting chance.

This year, I’ll be going with a wet brine once again, and experimenting with Brian Lagerstrom’s method of injecting the breasts. I understand injection is kinda wild and honestly a little annoying (which is not only to say the method, but also the kind of person who talks about flavor injection), but I’m really on a juicy breast meat journey, and the truth is it is difficult.

White meat cooks more quickly than dark meat, which means, without some strategy, every Thanksgiving Day cook is forced into a Sophie’s Choice between great dark meat (with bone-dry white meat) and great white meat (with rubbery dark meat). This is why there are so many videos and resources about the puzzle of “juicy white meat.” This is why you hear about things like spatchcocking (valid, and especially if you are smoking your bird). Some celebrity chefs like Alison Roman will insanely suggest you just not care about the white meat puzzle. They will insanely suggest you just give up, and focus on the sides, as you will inevitably fail to produce edible turkey breast. This is a really bad and I would even venture so far as to say evil opinion, but we forgive Alison on account of all of the great work she’s done in the space of stock and stuffing, which she discusses at length in this fantastic, hour-long Thanksgiving feature — a resource I can’t recommend more highly for a first-time host.

It was from Roman I picked up the ritual of making turkey stock the day before Thanksgiving, which was a huge unlock for my Thanksgiving prep. Not only does a well-made stock make your house smell amazing, and get your whole family in the mood for the holiday the day before your feast, it levels-up your gravy, your stuffing, and your leftover pot pie on Friday.

While I’m working on my stock, I rip a giant loaf of sourdough into tiny little pieces in advance of the following day’s stuffing (you want it rock-hard stale Thursday morning). This year, I’ll also work on that spinach pie. Then I’ll cede control of the kitchen to my sister for desert making.

But on Thursday it all happens.

That morning, we take our time. We ease in. We remember the event is really the journey itself.

Coffee, a Bloody Mary, the Thanksgiving Day Parade, and deviled eggs because they were a tradition I grew up with. And tradition, as with every corner of Thanksgiving, is key to your Thanksgiving morning. So honestly do your own thing here. Give yourself whatever you need to succeed.

I won’t break down each of my recipes, but to give you a sense of what the table looks like:

Appetizers:

Bacon-wrapped figs

Shrimp dip

Cheese / meat board

Dinner:

Turkey

Stuffing

Gravy

Mashed potatoes

Cranberry sauce

Corn casserole

Spinach pie

Rosemary baked squash

Mac-and-cheese

Dessert:

Chocolate cream pie

Pumpkin pie

Coffee with booze (Irish and Mexican)

A few minor notes on the menu above: the figs will depend on what’s left on my dad’s freak show fig tree that occasionally produces through November; the shrimp dip is a totally surreal kind of molded cream cheese thing from the 1970s my grandma used to bring around, and while I do recommend the rest of you try it one day I understand if you consider it repulsive and insane on account of it just, I think technically speaking, is (but you have to hit those 20th Century notes); I’ll be doing a homemade cranberry sauce (honey-sweetened recipe here) and a canned cranberry sauce, which I highly recommend, since the homemade is impressive and easy and smells really great, while the canned brings powerful memories; the corn casserole (recipe here) is trailer park food, but it will actually be everyone’s favorite dish. Trust me, do a corn casserole.

Now, the important callouts.

Sweet potato: I’ve already mentioned the key sweet potato dishes above, including a sweet potato pie and the iconic horrifying sweet potato mush covered in marshmallow. Generally speaking, people do expect some kind of sweet potato on your Thanksgiving table. If you decide to omit it, as I did this year as I was all good on variously-colored mushes and over-sweetened slops, you’re just going to have to stand on that. When Aunt Tilly says “where’s the sweet potato pie,” you say “I thought you were bringing it,” and you say it with your chest. Or, idk, just make the pie. It’s Thanksgiving!

Vegetables: I chose the somewhat controversial spinach pie this year (recipe here) because I enjoy making it and won’t get the chance to bake one at Christmas, but I acknowledge this is a curveball, and there are many valid directions you can take with vegetables. Alternatively, if you did a Brussels sprout thing with bacon and shallots it would certainly go hard, and for many people a string bean casserole is essential (I’ve done a bunch of them myself, but decided against adding more cream to my table this year). Collard greens are a non-negotiable addition for millions of families, so we have to give them a nod. Pearled onions are a nice addition in my opinion, and make for a noteworthy sort of second gravy, but if you go this route you’ll definitely need some kind of additional dish that really gives “vegetable.” A lot of people go gratin here, which I think is fine, especially if you aren’t doing mac-and-cheese. Which!

Mac-and-cheese: The truth is, I struggled with the mac-and-cheese people for many years. It seemed trashy and out of place to me on a Thanksgiving table. Like a random food somebody enjoyed, so they just shoved it into the menu. But the more I learned about the country the more I realized that trashy dishes are an important aspect of not only Thanksgiving, but America. “Trashy” is just another word for casual, and that is where we mostly find comfort. Also, I mean, if tens if not hundreds of millions of people are eating the dish on Thanksgiving, it just doesn’t matter what anyone has to say about that fact. The dish belongs on the table. I hold space for mac-and-cheese.

Finally, salad: I don’t think you need salad. Honestly, I feel more strongly about this than bread because if you can do a good bread, the bread will elevate your whole game. People will think about that bread for years. But nobody has ever remembered a salad. People eat salad at Thanksgiving to make themselves feel healthy before they stuff themselves with several pounds of butter, or to be polite. And I just don’t think that’s a good enough reason to crowd your table. Also, who wants gravy on lettuce or something? It’s horrible. Terrible. I would just not do it.

However, if someone brings a salad over? You say “wow, that looks amazing, thank you, the liquor’s in the living room.”

Now grab yourself a coffee, open up that Amazon shopping cart, and get to work. You only have a couple days left. And remember, sure, I did just share all of the correct opinions. But you’re in charge of the table now, which means you get to decide what that means.

Happy Thanksgiving,

-SOLANA