Regina Schrambling, former deputy editor of the New York Times' "Dining" section, weighs in on her hate for writing about the holiday.
What makes me totally crazy is the persistent pressure to reinvent a wheel that has been going around quite nicely for more than 200 years. Every fall, writers and editors have to knock themselves out to come up with a gimmick--fast turkey, slow turkey, brined turkey, unbrined turkey--when the meal essentially has to stay the same. It's like redrawing the Kama Sutra when readers really only care about the missionary position.
Read the rest of the piece, here.
I have to say, like Regina, I'm a little burned out on all the pre-holiday prep. Last year, I spent a few weeks in, like, August, putting together a glossy magazine-style Ultimate Thanksgiving Guide, and I can't say that I took any of my own advice when the holiday finally came around.
I didn't order my own fresh, heritage-breed turkey, but, instead ate whatever frozen, hormone-pumped supermarket bird my family was serving. I'm sure whichever aunt or uncle brought the pie didn't stop by Franklin Street Bakery, but just thawed out a Marie Callender. I certainly didn't bring a $30 bottle of Domaine de la Bongran Viré-Clessé 2002 for a group that normally drinks Franzia. I'm sure Michael Pollan would have looked at our spread and sighed in disgust.
On a typical weeknight, I might try to encourage my family members to substitute a fresh green bean almondine for the mushroom-soup casserole stuff, but, for me, Thanksgiving is a day where the food analysis shift is switched off. I eat the marshmallow-topped yams and Cool Whip topping without thinking too much about it, and just enjoy the time we have together.