Why is it that the less time you have the faster it seems to go? With less than 7 days until Thanksgiving, I’ve put the whole meal on my plan, and am starting to make a timetable so that everything hits the table on time. I’ll make gravy and rolls days before, pies and cranberry sauce the night before, and everything else the day of. The napkins and tablecloths are already ironed and waiting. Although I have collected many lovely table decorations, my sons voted them as annoying and in the way of the food.

Some people have intense opinions about stuffing.  No matter where he has Thanksgiving dinner, my brother invariably shows up at my house for the stuffing. It’s not that other people’s stuffing isn’t enjoyable, it’s just, well, theirs. My father cooks his turkey for an extreme period of time. As such, his stuffing is…well…his. My mother’s side has their own stuffing, and this is the one we’ve always used. It’s not written down anywhere and it’s probably never been attempted, so this year, as my sons and I make the stuffing, we’re going to take the extra time and measure everything. My great grandmother was from Romania, and she would hand my mother and aunt the spices to be added and draw a circle in their palms to show how much (we all cook with our hands. How can you tell if the stuffing needs more broth if you’re using a spoon?). But woe be to the person who tries to get fancy.  Somebody added mushrooms one year—it wasn’t pretty. Marshmallows on the sweet potatoes? If you must. Bread instead of rolls? Whatever. But don’t mess with the stuffing.

By the time the feast hits the table I will have checked the seasonings of so many things that I’m just not hungry. But it doesn’t matter, because to me the best part of Thanksgiving is the leftover turkey sandwich with mayonnaise, stuffing, cranberry sauce and gravy for breakfast the next morning. I have no worries about there being no leftovers because, so far, no one has ever noticed that I keep a secret stash of stuffing that never sees the table…