At 4:58 on Wednesday afternoon I sent my last email of the week, closed the laptop in my home office and walked the fifteen steps to the kitchen, where a sheet of paper taped to the cabinet said "WED 5 P.M.: CHAIRS, ICE, TABLECLOTH." That sheet of paper is the reason eleven people ate Thanksgiving dinner at our house this year without me taking a day off to cook.
Most of my team was out Wednesday, so my manager told the rest of us to work from home, but it was still a full day: a schedule review at 9, a budget update due by noon and the kind of afternoon where everyone who stayed sends each other the questions they meant to ask in October. My PTO for the year was already spoken for, as I wrote earlier this month, so cooking had to fit around work instead of replacing it.
The guest list: Ben, Harper and me; my parents, over from Florence; Ben's mom, Carol, from Hartselle; Ben's cousin, her husband and their two boys from Huntsville; and our neighbor from two doors down, who has eaten Thanksgiving with us since the year we moved in. Eleven, in a 1,480-square-foot house.
The plan, by day
- Sunday: Ben cooks on Sundays anyway, so he baked the cornbread for the dressing and made the cranberry sauce. Both went into the fridge.
- Monday: I placed a grocery pickup order at lunch and got it from Publix at 5, including a fresh 8-pound bone-in turkey breast. No thawing math.
- Tuesday night: After an office day, 40 minutes at the counter. I assembled the cornbread dressing and the sweet potato casserole, covered both in foil, wrote the oven temperature and time on top in marker and put them in the fridge.
- Wednesday: A full day of work. Harper, out of school all week, made eleven place cards at the kitchen table and folded napkins between my calls. At 5 I worked the list: four folding chairs borrowed from our neighbor, two bags of ice, a tablecloth ironed for about ninety seconds.
- Thursday: Turkey breast in at 10:15, out at 12:45 to rest. Both sides in at 12:50. Everyone arrived around 1, and we sat down at 1:45.
Why a turkey breast
A whole bird for eleven means getting up at 6, a fridge that won't close and thawing math that starts the Saturday before. An 8-pound bone-in breast fed all of us with enough left for Friday sandwiches, and it shared the oven with a casserole dish. Two dark-meat fans were consoled with extra dressing. "Nobody misses the drumsticks but me," Ben said, "and I'll recover."
Everyone brings one thing
Two weeks ahead I sent one group text with an assignment for each household, in writing, so nobody showed up with a second green bean casserole. I manage projects for a living, and I know what happens to anything that isn't written down.
- Carol: rolls. Non-negotiable. She has made the Thanksgiving rolls for this family longer than I've been part of it.
- My parents: green beans and my mom's pecan pie.
- Ben's cousin's family: macaroni and cheese and deviled eggs.
- Our neighbor: a gallon of sweet tea and a pumpkin pie from the grocery bakery, which he presented with pride.
- Us: turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, drinks, ice and the paper goods.
What our part cost
| Item | Cost |
|---|---|
| Bone-in turkey breast, 8 pounds | $27 |
| Cornbread dressing ingredients | $14 |
| Sweet potato casserole | $11 |
| Cranberry sauce | $5 |
| Drinks and ice | $16 |
| Foil pans, napkins, plates for the kids' table | $10 |
| Total | $83 |
Seating was the real puzzle. Eight fit at the dining table with the leaf in, and a card table in the living room took Harper and the two boys, who considered it a promotion. Harper's ranking of the meal, delivered at 2:30: Grandma Carol's rolls, the mac and cheese, my sweet potatoes "but only the top part," and the turkey, "fine." Same as every year.
Would I do it the same way next year? Yes, with one change. I'd put "find the gravy boat" on Tuesday's list instead of discovering at 1:40 on Thursday that it was in a box in the carport. Gravy poured from a measuring cup tastes exactly the same. I checked.
