I started this entry at 4:37am on Thanksgiving morning. It still felt like nighttime at that point. The house was serene, and the birds outside were asleep a little while longer. My sweet pup, Gravy, seemed confused as to why we were up so early. He remained by my side, even after I finished chopping veggies to go inside a turkey. No more carrots to beg for, he stayed close as I plopped in front of my laptop. With a cup of coffee to my left and a puddle of spilled Gravy on the floor, I wondered if any words would come out.

Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that really encapsulates all of my favorite things: Cooking for people I love. Being with people I love. Sharing my home with people I love. This year was a triple threat in the joy department, as my partner and I hosted our very first Thanksgiving dinner. 

Normally, before hosting literally any social function, I work myself up into a frenzy of ferocious feelings. Generally speaking, I’m a nervous person. But there’s a special sort of mania that often accompanies my party prep. I’ve got this ridiculous notion that everything has to be utterly (and effortlessly) perfect in order for anyone to have a good time. 

Deep down, I know that’s absolutely not true. Alas…a few hours before guests arrive, you’ll usually find me re-organizing the pots and pans or swabbing dust off my plants. Just in case anyone happens to care about shit like that. Spoiler alert: they never do! 

But truthfully, I’ve been looking forward to hosting this dinner for months. Maybe my whole life?! The fun thing about anxiety is sometimes you even get a little nervous about things you’ve been excited for all year. So when Dustin got the turkey (our first turkey gahhhh!) on the smoker before daybreak and headed back to bed, I was simply too giddy to fall back asleep. 

I can’t speak for all the Midwestern princesses out there, but hosting is one of those special talents I picked up back home. I learned from many great hostesses before me, and it’s one of my greatest joys. Growing up in Michigan, Thanksgiving was always the biggest deal in my family.

My brother and I would sometimes sleep over at our grandma’s house the night before. We were always put to work. Dicing onions and celery. Peeling potatoes. Ripping up loaves of bread that would soon become her famous dressing. I’m still not quite sure what the difference between “dressing” and “stuffing” is…but my cousins and I would always sneak pinches of it here and there when grandma wasn’t looking. 

My always lovely (but sometimes stern!) Grandma Malaga ran her kitchen like it was the Navy. Towel over her adorable shoulder, she never had an issue making sure everyone had a job to ensure Thanksgiving dinner made it to the table. My favorite part of my family’s Hungarian heritage is how seriously we take our food. 

At the helm, my Uncle Mike was always head chef for any family gathering. Especially on Thanksgiving. I’m now realizing I’ve written about him in almost every blog post so far, which speaks to the formative figure he was in my life. Uncle Mike’s larger-than-life presence always seemed to be the epicenter of the family. But he shined like no other when it came to Thanksgiving. 

Every year, my favorite part of dinner prep came down to the wire with what is (in my humble opinion) the hardest dish to time correctly. Mashed potatoes, of course. To absolutely nail it and get them on the table while they’re still hot is no small feat. As a kid, this made my role as Chief Mashed Potato Tester all the more exhilarating. I sat at the high top counter opposite Uncle Mike, watching my favorite dish come together. 

Even though they were perfect each year without a thought or recipe, he always gave me a spoon to taste test. I can’t reveal my family’s cherished recipes. But if you’re trying to level up your mashed potato game…try using the bowl of an electric mixer and adding some chicken stock. 

After dinner, the family would disperse. To a nearby couch to watch the Lions game. To play Legos on the floor or ping pong in the basement. Most years, we’d lounge around the living room watching Uncle Mike’s sacred DVD of the cinematic masterpiece Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987).  The warmth of laughter filled the house like the sweet aroma of apple pie fresh from the oven. 

They always made us kids evacuate the room during the airport car rental scene. My family, for the most part, swore like sailors. But I guess Steve Martin’s verbal rampage was deemed just a little too much for our young ears? Either way, it’s comedic gold. When I was finally considered old enough to watch the entire movie, I gained a whole new appreciation for the word “fuck.” It remains one of my favorite films of all time. I try my best to watch it every year to honor my late Uncle Mike. 

I grew up thinking that hosting holidays would be extremely stressful. I’m happy to report that it doesn’t always have to be that way! This year, even with waking up absolutely jazzed 3 hours before my alarm, I got the chance to share family recipes from my grandma’s kitchen in Michigan with a table full of people I love in New York. It was nothing short of magic. 

I say “recipes” loosely. To my knowledge, there’s no written record for any of these midwestern delicacies. We are a measure-with-your-heart kind of family. Grandma Malaga always swore,“you’ll smell it when it’s done,” so timing meals can be a bit tricky at times. It’s a nice reminder that some of life’s most beautiful moments are worth waiting for. 

Around here, Thanksgiving tradition says to gather around a feast and feel grateful. What if I told you, though, you can do that any day of the year? Practicing gratitude is a choice. One we can make all year long. 

In college, one of my professors challenged his students to keep a “gratitude journal” for a handful of weeks. To write three things we were grateful for each day of the assignment. Going to school in a place that usually felt like it was actively trying to destroy me (I ❤️ NY),  some days it was challenging. But it was uniquely grounding to sit down at the end of each day and contemplate three things I felt grateful for. 

After a while, this practice of gratitude revealed the little (and sometimes hidden) wonders that seemingly make life worth living.  A good cup of coffee. Seeing a cute puppy at the park. Catching a stellar sunset on accident, just because you’re in the right place at the right time. 

Even on the shittiest of days, I’m a firm believer that there’s truly always something to be grateful for. You might have to dig deep sometimes, but there is power in thankfulness. And I think we’d all be better off looking for it more than just one special day of the year. 

This trip around the sun, I’m grateful for the warmth and love that fills my home on a daily basis. Getting to share that love (and food!) with the people who gather around our table is nothing short of priceless to me. As we all trudge forward and through this holiday season, I sincerely hope you’re able to find something you’re grateful for too.