I have no clue who these people are, but this photo made me think that our celebration might be okay.
There’s something wildly optimistic, borderline delusional, about us deciding to host “Sandlersgiving” dinner in a home that still smells faintly of drywall dust and fresh paint this year. But that’s exactly what we’re doing. Two weeks before the actual holiday, because everyone will be in town for a wedding, and in a moment of post-espresso confidence, we thought, “Why not us?” I mean, our family Thanksgivings were never what you’d call traditional anyway.
Like the year my grandmother hosted and her new furniture hadn’t arrived (but she had sold everything), so we sat on the floor in front of the fireplace eating. Or the time my mom made gingerbread cookies that looked like they had just dragged themself out of the ditch all rag-tag and disfigured, with cyclopse eyes and missing limbs. Or the cake that Nana Ronnie BOUGHT and tried to pass off as her own by taking a knife and a spoon to it and messing up the frosting so bad, that chunks were missing (all because she didn’t feel like baking but didn’t want anyone to know).
The Biggest Tradition – Someone always ends up CRYING
Whether it’s the person who cooked for days only to have someone make an comment about it. In all seriousness everyone thinks they’re the BEST cook in our family – my dad owned restaurants in Newport and Providence, RI and was a chef and learned to cook from his mom. My Aunt and Grandmother are incredible cooks AND bakers (including fresh bread every week). So, everyone needs to have their hands in the pot, with the exception of Ben’s mom who claims she married his father for his skills in the kitchen.
So here we are: a family of three (Ben, Allyson, and our two-year-old sous chef, Jack), plus two dogs who think they own the place, living in what can best be described as a work in progress. Think HGTV’s “after” reveal, but paused somewhere around 62%.
The boxes are mostly still boxed. The rooms are mostly finished. The kitchen is mostly functional except that the permit for our gas (yes, the stove and water heater) hasn’t been granted yet, which means cold showers and no stovetop (thankfully, we have a wall oven). Because clearly, the universe looked at our plans and thought, “You know what this family needs? A challenge.”
The Pre-Thanksgiving That Wasn’t Supposed to Be
The plan seemed so simple: everyone’s coming for the wedding, we’ll host a casual “Friends-giving-meets-Family-chaos” gathering. Easy, right? Except that “simple” turned into “survival mode” the minute we realized the gas company’s definition of soon is apparently measured in geologic time.
So now, our holiday prep reads like a pioneer’s journal:
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Showers? Ice-cold. We’re calling it “Nordic wellness.”
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Cooking? A delicate dance between the oven, the grill, and a single electric skillet.
Honestly, we’re one loose extension cord away from camping indoors.
Meet the Team: Culinary Chaos Edition
Ben – our head chef, grill master, and the guy currently Googling “how to deep fry a turkey on a deck without blowing up your house.” Ben’s calm under pressure… most of the time. He’s got the patience of a saint, the skill of a Michelin-star chef, and the uncanny ability to ignore the sound of a toddler emptying an entire bag of flour on the floor.
Allyson – baker extraordinaire and resident project manager. She’s the one with spreadsheets for the guest list, color-coded bins for decorations, and a running list titled “Things We’ll Definitely Have Done by Thanksgiving” (spoiler: we won’t).
Jack – two years old, high on life (and probably powdered sugar), and the most enthusiastic helper in the kitchen. His main jobs include “mixing” (splashing), “tasting” (double-dipping), and providing commentary like, “I want Bambas or Pirates Bootie.” He’s also the reason there’s now a handprint of gravy on the dining room wall.
The Dogs – two loyal, shedding companions who believe their purpose in life is to trip us while we carry hot food.
Cooking Without Gas (A Love Story)
Here’s the thing about hosting a full Thanksgiving meal without a working cooktop: it requires creativity, patience, and a well stocked bar.
Ben has taken the challenge as a personal culinary Everest. The grill has become our Swiss Army knife of survival, equal parts stovetop, oven, and mood lighting. There’s something strangely poetic about watching him out there in his hoodie, boiling potatoes to mash in a cast-iron pan over the flames while the dogs supervise like sous chefs from hell’s kitchen.
Meanwhile, inside, Allyson’s baking operation is a cross between “The Great British Bake Off” and a construction site. The oven works (thankfully), but space is limited, so cookies are sharing rack time with sweet potatoes and a pan of rolls that may or may not bought frozen to be passed off as her own.
And because we can’t wash dishes in hot water, we’ve taken to pretending that paper plates are “minimalist chic.”
The Great Unboxing (or How to Lose Your Mind in 12 Boxes)
There’s a special kind of irony in hosting a holiday meal when your dining table is still buried under a pile of “miscellaneous kitchen stuff” from the move. Every box you open is a game of chance: is it the gravy boat… or Allyson’s favorite handbag?
We’re down to the wire, and every discovery feels monumental.
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Found the carving knife? Nope, but see our next post and learn how we decided on NEW knives from Henckels.
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Found the toddler forks but not the silverware? Improvise.
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Found the candles but not the matches? Romantic and useless.
At one point, Ben found our serving platter wedged behind a box labeled “garage stuff.” Why? No one knows. The move has made us philosophers.
The Menu: Ambitious with a Side of Chaos
Because Ben is Ben, the menu reads like something out of a Bon Appétit Thanksgiving issue except all the recipes now have handwritten notes like “use air fryer” or “oven full, see if mom can make at her house and drive it over quickly.
Here’s what’s (hopefully) on the table:
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Deep Fried Turkey – because we do have a deep fryer out in the yard.
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Roasted Veggies – cooked on the grill, YUM they’ll be perfectly roasted.
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Mashed Potatoes à la Cast Iron – creamy, smoky, and slightly crunchy from that one time Jack threw in breadcrumbs.
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Stuffing in a Sheet Pan – because we can’t find the casserole dishes, and honestly, it’s genius.
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Sugar & Chocolate Chip Cookies – courtesy of My Better Batch cookie mixes and a prayer to the baking gods that the oven holds steady at 350°F (and no one here likes pumpkin pie).
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Canned Cranberry Sauce – because no one here really likes it anyway.
Oh and the appetizers are just charcuterie boards (no cooking needed) and some stuffed mushrooms (cooked in the air fryer).
Setting the Scene (and Lowering Expectations)
We may not have finished decorating the dining room, but we do have a vision: string lights for ambiance, mismatched chairs for “character,” and a toddler centerpiece who insists that every place setting include one of his toy trucks.
Our décor theme this year? “Construction chic.” Think drop cloth table runner, paint can flower vases (with a little leftover dried paint left from the bathroom they painted), and the faint scent of spackle in the air. Honestly, Martha Stewart could never.
Guests have been warned: the bathroom mirror isn’t hung yet, the floors are still slippery because we haven’t bought rugs yet, and if you hear a loud bang, it’s probably just the grill lid.
The Beauty of Imperfect Traditions
Somewhere between the cold showers, the missing utensils, and the turkey that may or may not be fully cooked, there’s this quiet, messy magic to it all.
It’s not perfect—far from it, but that’s kind of the point. The dogs are happy, Jack’s covered in flour, Ben’s humming to himself while plating something suspiciously fancy, and Allyson’s laughing because she just realized she packed the gravy boat in the attic box.
And in that chaos, you can feel the beginnings of something wonderful, a new family tradition, with lots of laughter and stubborn optimism.
The Takeaway
We might not have all the boxes unpacked or the gas turned on, but we have a home filled with noise, food, laughter, and love. And at the end of the day, that’s what Thanksgiving’s really about, no matter what date it’s on or how many power cords are running across the kitchen floor.
So here’s to our not-quite-ready-for-prime-time Thanksgiving. To cold showers that keep us humble. To grilled veggies and potatoes that somehow work. To a toddler who thinks cranberry sauce is finger paint.
Because maybe, just maybe, this imperfect little feast will be the one we look back on years from now and say, “Remember our first Thanksgiving here? When nothing worked but everything was perfect?”
And honestly… that’s something worth toasting.
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