Talk about words that fall on deaf ears: “Relax, it’s just Thanksgiving!”
I tried them out recently on a caller who’d rung me up to discuss her pumpkin-pie anxieties. “But what if it doesn’t come out?” she asked. “What if it doesn’t set? What if it fails?” (What she meant, of course, was, “What if I fail?”)
My answer, which is one I’ve used many times before: “If your pie doesn’t set, dim the lights and call it ‘pumpkin pudding.’ ”
Silence.
What always strikes me this time of year is just how much appears to be at stake for home cooks. People don’t just worry about the big Thanksgiving meal, they positively freak out about it. Off the deep end.
Maybe it’s because no one roasts a whole turkey any other time of year, so they’ve forgotten how to do it by the time November rolls around. Or maybe it’s because the cooks know that their guests hit the table with more expectations than usual, raising the stakes on the cook. Whatever it is, by the day before Thanksgiving (today), home cooks are at the proverbial wits’ end.
It’s understandable. But it’s also a shame. Because if you need a holiday to recover from the holiday, something’s gone wrong.
I don’t think it’s the scope of the meal that causes people to freak out, or the fact that the in-laws are coming over. I think it’s a problem of perfectionism.
My prescription: Relax.
Here’s the secret about Thanksgiving (or any other dinner gathering, for that matter). It’s not about perfect food. It’s never been about perfect food. Think the Pilgrims and Wampanoag feasting together on Cape Cod were worried about having a textboook corn pone? Wrong. They were happy to have any corn in the first place. They were happy to be alive.
I know what you’re thinking, that next I’m going to say something like “Thanksgiving is about family,” or “Thanksgiving is about friends,” or even “Thanksgiving is about giving thanks.” But I’m not.
Thanksgiving — however you celebrate it, with family, friends, or alone — is about nothing more (or less) than being human. And there’s nothing perfect about being human. Thank God.
No one ever remembers a “perfect” meal with anything like fondness. When meals are perfect, guests spend the drive home categorizing the cook in less-than-flattering terms: Uptight. Fussbudget. Mr. Perfect. Martha Stewart. Having everything “just so” isn’t something your guests admire, it’s something your guests can’t stand. Flawless cooking annoys them.
It’s when meals are imperfect, rough around the edges, relatable, human, that they’re remembered warmly. When people see through the curtain, they allow themselves to relax, to connect, to enjoy. Smiles soften, jokes roll more heartily, and everyone, except maybe Martha, has a better time.
Perfection doesn’t make the celebration any sweeter. Never has, never will.
So tomorrow, cooks, do your best. It’s the best you can do, and it’s better than you think. In fact, it’s just perfect.
Tucker Shaw: 303-954-1958 or tshaw@denverpost.com
