I’m currently in the middle of my favorite annual meltdown: Thanksgiving Dinner perfectionism. My chef brother makes the actual dinner – along with my mother, also a former chef – so there’s no performance pressure there. Thanksgiving is like my brother’s Olympics, SuperBowl, Christmas and birthday rolled into one giant meal for 20 people, so he generally pulls out all the stops. Keeps it somewhat traditional but mixes it up; his cranberry compote has bacon in it, for example, and one year he did three different stuffings (one was straight-up Stove Top for Yours Truly – I WON’T APOLOGIZE FOR THE BUTTERY PROCESSED CRAP IN MY LIFE).
There’s a finesse to freaking out about nothing, but after 40 years of practice, I’m at the top of my game. While the hate crimes pile up in this country and children go hungry and cats fight dogs in the street, I’ve been on Pinterest, agonizing over recipes I will never make at parties we will never throw. Welcome to Thanksgiving Privilege 2016, Population: Me.