Fortunately, I live in France because I can lounge next week and don’t have to suffer through Thanksgiving. Wait, you don’t know about that? Thanksgiving is an American “holiday”. Holiday, my ass. You get up, cry, make ten vats of food to feed an army of greedy behemoths that will launch themselves into your artfully arranged courtyard, get drunk, eat EVERYTHING, complain that their stomachs hurt, ruin your bathroom and then stumble home because they need a nap. What just happened?
I bet Native Americans were fond of restraint. Modern day Americans aren’t, and I just found out that you can buy turduken at a gun store. Fantastic. Really, the only way to lift your spirits during this spectacle of awful is to make a cute tablescape. I’m good at those and you can be too.
There’s gonna be a lot of food, so keep things simple. You could scatter a bunch of pumpkins and maybe some shafts of wheat, which would feel very “of the native land”. Or fill glass bowls with cranberries and votives. Maybe sprinkle some wild rice and leaves on the table. Or you could go full Bacchanal and make a cornucopia, but that’s a ton of work and you’ll probably be exhausted after making slider stuffing and onion ring casserole at 4:00 a.m.
Try to survive. See you on the other side.