Thanksgiving

2025 🦃

This year I decided “to do” Thanksgiving.

Notice the verb “to do” is featured in quotation marks given the fact that I merely participated in the illusion of “doing” Thanksgiving. Truth be told I had a lot of help, primarily from my dear mother, the ultimate hostess and MC of all Thanksgivings past (and present), but also my father, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins/in-laws, best friend, the sweet women at Honey Baked Ham (Athens location), the Butt Hut, Peninsula Grill, and even our supermutt/beagle Lilly.

When it comes to a DeMarco-Patel Thanksgiving, we alternate between Des Moines, Iowa (where my dad is originally from) and Athens, Georgia, with the occasional year off to celebrate my grandparent’s milestone wedding anniversaries. Like many families Thanksgiving there is always a lot of food, a lot of family, a lot of wine, a turkey trot, and PIE!

We’re quite “American traditional” when it comes to our Thanksgiving spread, whatever that means... Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, rolls, green beans, gravy, cranberry sauce, and stuffing are some staples we tend to work around. I do not believe in sweet potato casserole, although I realize this may be a controversial statement.

Side note: I am, however, intrigued by the concept of mini marshmallows, and one day dream to feature some sort of watergate salad/ambrosia type thing on my holiday table, until that day there will be no mini marshmallows, or sweet potatoes for that matter, on any Thanksgiving table I am in charge of orchestrating. The sweetness will be featured in some version of squash and of course my mom’s quintessential cherry chutney.

*This year I also learned that deviled eggs were another nostalgic favorite that I could potentially get behind in the future.*

In order to prepare for the holiday, and to ensure things went swimmingly, prep started months in advance with the cleaning of the brick house, the green shed, the tea room, the fridge, and the pantry (no this is not CLUE). Mom and dad were in Antarctica for two weeks leading up to “turkey week” so certain tasks were accomplished during their leave such as dry cleaning, shopping for pie ingredients, finalizing the menu, and assigning last minute “to do” items.

*Yes indeed I did feel like a mini/evil Martha Stewart.*

When they got home, mom and I finalized the grocery list, and we got going. Between hours spent working my old job at Birdies and going to yoga, we prepped. Dad and I set up the bar, Anna took care of the dirty things like cleaning windows, but somehow sneaked by without polishing a single piece of silver (we thought we had convinced mom to completely forgo the antiquated custom, but Aunt Lisa ended up polishing a tray), mom shopped, organized, cleaned, fielded visits from our electrician and HVAC people, and after a week of work we were ready.

All that was left was the turkey and picking up a few rental chairs.

The last Thanksgiving we hosted in Athens I made tacos the Wednesday people arrived, so we decided to do the same this year after briefly considering chili - the option was nixed by me given that I felt tacos would go better with the 20 avocado guacamole I had asked my cousin-in-law, Jacob, to make again (he makes the best)!

Wednesday morning Uncle John, Aunt Lisa, and Grandma Ann arrived early as part of the Pie Crew. After careful discussion and calculation we determined: two apples, one pumpkin and one traditional pecan would be made by my grandmother, and one Kentucky Bourbon Chocolate Pecan pie be made by my father. Somehow the latter Pie Master did not get the memo and made two crusts with orange peel in them (a feature often reserved for the KBCPP only). Once more, with serious discussion and a fleeting moment when the extra crust was considered as the base for the double crust apple pie, we decided on two Kentucky Bourbon Chocolate Pecan pies.

Before the Pie Crew arrived and in between frying bacon for my stuffing and finishing the rest of my “mise” for tacos (most was done the night before, in addition to the gravy by me and the cherry chutney by mom), I made filling for the KBCPP, and got the two pies in the oven. Then came the matriarch.

*A word on Grandma Ann (if you haven’t read my previous Substack, or are not a member of this family): She is 91, and can still make 4 pies with her eyes closed. She is so incredibly impressive to me, and yet being the incredibly rotten grandchild I am - beyond tending the oven and finding a couple cup measures, I didn’t help her at all! As I said in my last Substack about her, she is the OG line cook and therefore I have been spoiled and inspired.*

The rest of Wednesday went pretty easy, for me at least, besides an oven malfunction that was remedied. I got my stuffing in to bake for the first time and assembled my cowboy caviar. Aunt Lisa made the cranberry sauce, and the kitchen was cleared by the time Jacob and Angela arrived with the avocados. Uncle John, Aunt Lisa, Anna, and I got into the keg and toasted over pilsner and Gaelic ale.

I can’t remember in what order, but Krishna, Grand and Jinxy arrived with the coconut cake and then Frank and Marry’s crew. Then came Matt’s family all in time for a 7:30 dinner, and what was left of the industrially batched guacamole. After people came in from the outdoor wood fire and I pulled my last tortilla off the griddle, we said the blessing and proceeded with the buffet line.

*The courtesy in this family is unreal - convincing anyone to go first in line is nearly impossible if their birth name ends in DeMarco/Patel/Carpenter. Normally we can convince the elders to go first, but after that, it’s a slow cue to eat the increasingly cooling spread that lays ahead. Luckily, newly adopted partners and spouses of family members can often be coerced into breaking the custom.*

The seating: This year a couple days before everyone’s arrival, my mother and I sat at the kitchen table to write out a head count and glance over the creepy security camera-like pictures she had taken of Thanksgiving table set ups in years past. *A word on my mother: she handles hosting logistics with the attitude and grace of a 1950s housewife, and the procedure of a high ranking CIA agent. In other words, there is no” Type B” option.*As my Aunt Lunar and Uncle Steve could not make it this year, we were down to 25 people and therefore set up the tables accordingly: Three tables for eating. One table for serving. Done.

Taco night went great. After dinner we had coconut cake from Peninsula Grill, a holiday staple Krishna brings in from Charleston to mark the anniversary of my grandparents. We toasted with champagne to Grand and Jinxy and their 61 years of marriage, a rather impressive milestone, and dug into the decadent slices, expertly cut by my father. I can’t remember what time people left, but I do know it was earlier than Thursday and Friday night. I was exhausted, so after doing a couple of dishes I went up stairs and got immediately in bed.

Thanksgiving morning we always do a turkey trot as a means to earn pie. This year; however, there were fewer participants although we did not restrict their pie privileges. This gave me the opportunity to cross the finish line without the worry of my cousin Brendan strategically breezing past me at the last minute (an occurrence that seems to happen every damn year). It also gave me the opportunity to take my sweet time given that the majority of family members were walking - besides Anna and Krishna.

Before the “run’ I made the dough for my Claire Saffitz dinner rolls (the woman is a culinary genius) and threw them under the stairs to rise

Following the trot we always have our traditional breakfast composed of Aunt Lisa’s breakfast casserole, Jinxy’s cheese grits (the only grits my father will eat), fruit, Hostess mini donuts, and the best pumpkin bread I’ve ever had - also made by my aunt Lisa. This year there was a full on crisis given that we had some stragglers show up at the end, and our casserole to people ratio was off - all of which resulted in my Aunt Krishna returning a hot sauced piece of casserole back to the serving dish - iconic. All was remedied with a batch of cheesy scrambled eggs cooked by myself.

As breakfast wound down I said a temporary goodbye to my Aunt Lisa agreeing to meet back at 1:30PM to assemble our grazing board. Some cousins stayed, others went to change. I got in the shower and made myself pretty.

The chef wore her emotional support camel boots, a white mini skirt layered over a jean skirt, a brown long-sleeve, and given the absence of long yearned for H&B apron I wore my Chubby Fish denim one —> warm, worn, and perfect for Thanksgiving night. I threw on some blush and was back down stairs to form my rolls, blend green goddess, and do some other nonsense that had me behind schedule when aunt Lisa arrived.

While she began to lay out her many components of the elaborate grazing board we had discussed weeks ahead (it is completely her brain child, I am just the one she bounces thoughts off of) I tasted my green goddess, made a mess, and gave vague instruction to my cousin-in-law Tyler regarding cuts for the crudité (another OG)!

*The green goddess is a recipe created and imagined by the one and only Maggie Davis - basically what it is, is a list of ingredients, written down in my notes app, that could take part in the dressing, but don’t have to - everything is up for interpretation, and relies on whoever is making it to use the James London method of taste: do you love it?*

When my project was finally complete, I moved over to the buffet where Aunt Lisa, Lia, and Aunt Mary were hard at work, laying out components, making soppressata flowers, and calling the shots. I clumsily folded meat (ironic for someone who works in a charcuterie shop), and made comments regarding where excess crackers and chocolate should be placed - lovely.

3 PM struck and 30 minutes later than intended (because of my slow start), the grazing board was served. Grazers were at first timid and polite - and then in a flash, just like the guacamole, almost everything was demolished. Dinner time was announced to be moved till 6:30 given the late grazing board start - now it was show time.

Green beans and spinach were done by my mother, brussels by my aunt Mary and cousin Gianna, Matt and Dad determined the appropriate reheat time for the turkey (retrieved from Butt Hutt the morning of by my cousin Jacob). I simply had to rebake my stuffing, fire my rolls, dress my acorn squash and time all of this baking with the delicious corn bread I last minute asked my sister to make.

At 6:15, Jacob came over to the oven where my sister and I awaited our bread, with a smile on his face - he knew we’d make it on time.

Table. Done. Meat. Done. The best mashed potatoes you’ve ever consumed (made by Jinxy and Krishna). Done. Veg. Done. Sauce. Done. Pumpkin Pie. Out of the fridge. Cool Whip. Thawing. Whip cream. Done. Gravy. Reheated. Bread. Steaming hot out of the oven, plated at 6:32PM. Done. Now all that we needed was Grandma Ann. Twenty four family members crowded around the space where my parent’s back sun porch meets their c. 2000 bathroom renovation, the “show-itchen” as my uncle John calls it (a combination of shower and kitchen). I smiled with a sigh of relief and gratitude.

Now all that was left was to eat, drink and enjoy family.

Peace and Love,

B.

“Finishing touches”. November 27, 2025. Athens, Georgia. *Photo credits: Kpoo*