There was a time when my Thanksgiving preparations simply meant booking a flight to visit family back in the northeast. All I had to was show up.
But now things have flipped. Through life changes, through deaths and divorce and the march of time, I am now the host. My mother and her sister travel for a New Orleans Thanksgiving.
I try to summon their examples from long ago of how they made our holidays special. Food is central, and so is the character of New Orleans, in a way that always renews my gratitude for living here.
One pleasure of hosting in New Orleans is showing off the city itself, so the oaks and architecture, the small shops and characters are the backdrop for food foraging errands that have become their own holiday rituals.
We visit wine shops that have their own wine bars, for a glass and a taste of neighborhood conviviality while shopping for the turkey pairings.
We will pick up oysters I’ll shuck at home from a local market, and there’s the turkey to get from Terranova’s Meats, a butcher shop and a throwback to at least several generations.
On the big day, my relatives join a table of friends, neighbors and ersatz holiday orphans. Upon arrival, I am ready for them with “the welcome cocktail,” a predetermined batched drink that smooths entry into the festive fray.
Everyone contributes to the feast of commingled traditions, from bread from local bakeries to Korean dumplings from my neighbor’s kitchen.
Then there’s Leftovers Lounge, my term for an after-dinner open house, where people come by with that half-eaten pie or that open bottle of Beaujolais, on the premise that other people’s leftovers taste better and that by Thanksgiving night everyone needs a chance to get out and vent.
And there, around the dirty dishes and crumbled foil, Leftovers Lounge becomes another manifestation of what I love about New Orleans. It’s that easy social way we have for continuing traditions, adding individual personality and giving our guests a taste of our life here. It’s a joy to share.
