the Big BiteSo let’s do just that.
Try as I might, I can’t help but associate Thanksgiv-
ing with...work. It’s work to cook so many dishes (Un-
cle Marty will throw a tantrum if he doesn’t see his be-
loved creamed onions; Cousin Nancy won’t show
up if scalloped potatoes aren’t on the menu), and
it’s work to scrub so many plates and bowls, just
as it’s work to haul the children through jammed
airports and it’s work tap-dancing through four
days of conversation trying to pretend that Don-
ald Trump doesn’t exist. Sometimes I wonder
whether Thanksgiving has less to do with ex-
pressing gratitude and more to do with enshrin-
ing some Puritan custom of making things way
more arduous than they need to be.
If you happen to belong to my semi-clan-
destine band of Turkey Day refuseniks, I have
a solution for you: Go to a restaurant for Thanks-
giving dinner. Reserve a big table and take the
whole family. Maybe you think there’s some-
thing obscene about such a suggestion, con-
sidering Thanksgiving’s deep connection to
hearth and home, but (pssst) it’s not as radical
as it might initially appear. The first time I did
it, I was feeling overwhelmed by the crunch of
the holiday season, and weeks before my fam-
ily members flew into town from California, I found
myself wistfully Googling “New York restaurants that
serve Thanksgiving.”
Lo, such restaurants were manifold. I rashly made
a reservation at Keens, a Manhattan chophouse thatdates back to the days of Teddy Roosevelt. I told my
mom not to worry, I hadn’t joined a cult; this was
just a one-off experiment with (ahem) not working
ourselves to death on what’s supposed to be a holiday.
And that night at Keens came as a revela-
tion. The menu included all the classics—
candied yams, mashed potatoes, pumpkin
pie with ginger cream—as well as shrimp
cocktail and fat slabs of bacon. We feast-
ed like wild dogs. Yet we got up from that
table with an unexpected feeling of light-
ness. The airy sensation could be attribut-
ed to something simple: We didn’t have
to do anything. We didn’t have to clean
up. Our family conversation around the
table that evening was marked by looseness.
We actually relaxed.
Should you snicker that my sentiments
here are somehow un-American, that it is
our duty to suffer through the plate-juggling
circus of Thanksgiving just because That’s
What You’re Supposed to Do, keep in mind
my primary realization during that dinner
at Keens: The place was packed. It turns out
there is a sizable secret society of turkey-lov-
ing patriots who happen to prefer a stress-
free Thanksgiving. I still remember their uproarious
laughter at Keens and that liberated gleam in their
eyes. “Do you finally get it?” they seemed to be ask-
ing me with knowing nods. “Thanksgiving at home
is for suckers.”AWAY GAME
The stuffing at Craft in New York, a longtime fa-
vorite place to spend Thanksgiving not at home.Enjoy Cocktail Responsibly | © 2019 ANGOSTURA HOLDINGS LIMITED