Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year, and for me, it all starts with that herb-roasted turkey. I get up before dawn, pull out the bird, and start working in the butter infused with rosemary, thyme, and sage. I make sure every crevice, every inch of skin, is well-coated, so as it roasts, the herbs seep deep into the meat. I add garlic, a hint of lemon zest, and season generously with salt and pepper. There’s a ritual to it, almost meditative, and by the time the bird’s in the oven, the whole kitchen smells like a little herb garden. That turkey turns golden-brown and juicy with a skin so crispy you can hear it crunch, and just seeing it come out of the oven feels like a celebration in itself.
As I work through each dish, the Thanksgiving parade plays in the background, adding its own festive rhythm to the day. The floats, balloons, and marching bands fill the house with familiar sounds, bringing holiday cheer and anticipation to every corner. It’s almost like a companion in the kitchen—while I chop, season, and stir, I catch glimpses of the performers and hear the crowd’s excitement, making the holiday feel even more special.
The cornbread dressing, though—that’s when I really feel Thanksgiving come alive. I crumble the cornbread, mixing in celery, onions, bell peppers, and sage, along with homemade broth. Each spoonful is moist, savory, and rich, with the edges perfectly crisp from baking. It’s the dish that ties it all together, familiar and comforting, a taste that instantly brings me back to Thanksgiving dinners past.
Then there’s the sweet potato casserole, always a family favorite. I mash the sweet potatoes until they’re velvety smooth, folding in a touch of brown sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon, making them taste like dessert right on the dinner plate. I sprinkle a layer of chopped pecans over the top, then nestle marshmallows all across, browning them until they melt into a golden, gooey topping with a slight crackle. It’s warm and indulgent, with the nuttiness of the pecans balancing the sweetness of the marshmallows.
The green bean casserole is another essential—nothing too fancy, but it has its own place on the table. I stir the green beans in with creamy mushroom soup and season it just right before covering it with those crunchy fried onions. Once it’s baked, every bite is a mix of creamy and crispy, simple and satisfying, exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Then come the rolls, golden and warm, fresh from the oven. There’s something about tearing open a fluffy, buttered roll to scoop up that last bit of gravy or dressing. It’s a detail, but it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without them.
Finally, we reach the grand finale... the pies. The pecan pie, thick and sticky-sweet, is rich with caramelized sugar, the pecans toasted to perfection. It’s decadent, almost sinful, and every bite is like a taste of fall. The pumpkin pie, on the other hand, is smoother, creamy, and spiced just enough with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. A dollop of whipped cream on top makes it complete.
After that last forkful of pie, we bundle up and head out to the Christmas tree farm, a tradition that holds as much meaning as the meal itself. We walk through rows of evergreens, the earthy scent of pine in the cold air filling our lungs as we search for the perfect tree. The kids and I wander, critiquing each one, looking for the one that just feels right. It’s a bit of Thanksgiving magic that stretches beyond the day itself, a bridge from our table filled with love to the excitement of the holiday season. The tree we bring home is more than just a tree—it’s a continuation of this day, a symbol of family, togetherness, and memories we create together, year after year.