Thanksgiving is here, and I can’t cook.

I can broil a fish filet and steam a veggie, but that’s about it. If you want anything else edible, don’t let me anywhere near a stove. Especially the one that has occupied my kitchen for 35 years. It’s old. Ancient. Managing that relic for a large dinner requires a finesse I will never — and don’t care to — possess. 

I have heard the tales and gaped at the lavish photos of Thanksgiving dinner table scenes. I know of the cooking champions who start preparing the cakes, pies and sides weeks out, who delight in making all manner of dishes that I have never heard of. 

I have seen the images of exhausted hosts (always women) toiling over a hot stove to lay out lavish spreads. I have marveled at their talents and drive.

That won’t be me, as I can’t cook.   

As a person who loves to host parties, that would not be something to be thankful for, especially on this grand holiday of feasting. Yet I am thankful this season, especially because, for more than two decades, I have been blessed with family and friends who can cook. So, every Thanksgiving my husband and I open our doors, and the goodies flow in. 

We are saved by the great Thanksgiving Day Potluck Extravaganza Extraordinaire.

If you go by a survey by the Pew Research Center, the holiday is a big deal. Conducted in the run-up to the 2024 Thanksgiving celebration, it queried 9,609 adults across America about their plans. The survey found that 91% said they celebrate the holiday, across all demographic groups. Only 7% expected to have Thanksgiving dinner with more than 20 other people. About a quarter of those surveyed said they planned to dine with more than 10 others that year.

“Smaller get-togethers are more common: 26% of Americans plan to have dinner with six to 10 other people, 15% with three to five other people, and 4% with one to two other people,” according to the survey.  

Six people? At my abode, we are often bursting at the seams, packing in close to 30 celebrants into our three-bedroom apartment for Thanksgiving. 

This year, more of the same. It will be an assemblage of siblings, nieces, nephews, in-laws and friends of every type and stripe. We have known some for more than 40 years and one person I met just last week. 

The crowd is always diverse, United Nations style. We will welcome immigrants from India and Japan. There will be an expat couple visiting from Thailand. Others trek to our North Side apartment from Indiana, the south suburbs and beyond. 

We do it up right. Paper plates are verboten. It’s the only time I break out the sets of china and crystal, including my grandmother’s treasured turkey plates. 

They will be loaded with traditional dishes — turkey and gravy, ham, cranberry sauce, with a touch of eggnog. 

That’s just for starters. Our lovely guests have brought sushi, collard greens, hummus and baba ghanoush, and Thai satay. 

Before my mother left us in 2023, her specialty of creamily spiced macaroni and cheese was the crown jewel of our Thanksgiving fetes. Now our guests compete to meet her high standards.

Our feasts are a cultural journey that sparks conversation about the differences that bring us together. One debate I have been pushing over the years is the potato question: mashed versus sweet? In the African American Thanksgivings of my youth, sweet potatoes or candied yams were mandatory. Among my white friends, it was mashed potatoes doused in gravy. 

Pumpkin pie? Not. Sweet potato pie was the thing in our house. For the turkey, we called it dressing, not stuffing. Crumbly cornbread, not dinner rolls.

We have had it all. 

Even Mom’s favorite, chitterlings, the piggy innards that are a prized delicacy among many African Americans, have made appearances. Oink.

So, as the big day approached, I was thankful for potluck. Then, last week, a wrench was thrown. I have nearly 30 guests coming with food, but no way to heat up the action. 

Remember that relic in my kitchen? That ancient stove was on the verge of collapse and down to one working jet. So, after eons of my nagging, the hubby ran out and picked up a new stove. 

It’s a marvel in my eyes. Gleaming and fresh, with five powerful jets. 

A new stove for the lady who can’t cook. Happy Thanksgiving! 

Laura Washington is a political commentator and longtime Chicago journalist. Her columns appear in the Tribune each Wednesday. Write to her at LauraLauraWashington@gmail.com.

Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@chicagotribune.com.

https://www.chicagotribune.com/2025/11/26/column-thanksgiving-cooking-potluck-washington/