The Five Stages (and Cocktails) of Thanksgiving Day Grief
Credit: Awkward Family Photos.
Let me take you back to a time when gatherings weren’t restricted by the CDC, to a bygone Thanksgiving when you didn’t think about a stranger’s particulate spray or if your weird uncle dry coughing at his own jokes was just a character trait and not a sign of his impending demise…
It was November 28th, 2019. Beto O’Rourke recently ended his presidential run (“I bet-y-o didn’t see that coming,” your weird uncle said, coughing wetly into his fist), Disney+ is a thing…for some reason, Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year is “climate emergency,” European parliament declared an Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year, and Mercury has been out of retrograde for only a goddamn week, so, naturally, you were looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner with the family you see in person once a year but constantly see on Facebook posting stuff about crystals and guns and some blurry pictures of dogs. So many blurry pictures of dogs.
You made the trek the day before to your parents’ house where you spent an enjoyable night laughing and watching the sort of shows parents watch: Impractical Jokers, Judge Judy, the local news. And you brought some booze, drank most of it, and passed out in the twin-seized bed that replaced whatever your bed used to be, something your feet hang off of now, and, in the morning, you woke up to the unmistakable clatter of pots and pans, the cacophony of Thanksgiving dinner’s onset.
Enter the first stage of Thanksgiving Grief: Denial.
There’s no effing way this needed to begin at, what? Ten in the morning? Wait, no. No, no, no. It was nine o’clock but the pans, they were a clamoring. So you threw your body from the tiny bed and staggered into the kitchen. There was coffee (Folger’s, probably, Duncan if you were lucky), some toast and cold bacon, and the remnants of a last nights bottles. Whatever: you knew the kind of day ahead, and there was an air of freedom that came with the Holiday, a certain I Don’t Give a Heck that made an early morning drink seem not only possible but necessary. Besides, the one TV was turned to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, which, you know, sucks to watch, so you wanted a little up with your down to get through the three hours of Al Roker and Savannah Guthrie feigning amazement at giant Pikachu and Olaf balloons. (“Team Rocket, blasting off again, Savannah!”) You remembered, as if from a dream, the year Sonic the Hedgehog caught a breeze, snapped a light pole that hit a woman and put her in a coma for a week. Pouring alcohol into your coffee, you, too, long for a short Sonic-induced break from the world. You, too, can’t believe the turn in the weather.
Cocktail #1: RAGAMUFFIN PARADE
Before the Macy’s parade, there was a second trick-or-treat for poor kids called the Ragamuffin Parade but it couldn’t compete with Macy’s and was soon cancelled and isn’t that just so American? About as American as drinking in the morning.
1.5oz Bourbon
1.5oz Sweet Vermouth
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
3 dashes Chocolate Bitters
4oz Black Coffee
Optional: 0.5oz Simple Syrup
Pour it all in a cup.
Stir it.
Drink it.
Nap?
The second stage: Anger.
By noon, the extended family rolled in. Some cousins and their significant others who, by the way, didn’t want to be there and would hover at the fringe of every space like dog hair gathering in corners. Grandparents showed up, and uncles, some aunts, and before you knew it, someone was asking about your love life and why you post what you do, when you’re going to get a real job, and you felt the rage filling a bar like something in a video game, and it was like a magic trick when you found the leftover wine in the fridge, the juice from breakfast. It was like you were G.D. Houdini himself pulling a potion from your hat to keep your anger from spilling into an explanation about the science of vaccines to your step-aunt in a really condescending way. And you know what? Sangria goes great with a heavy, salty meal like Thanksgiving, anyway. You dare someone to say something; you wish they would.
Cocktail #2: SANGRATEFUL (FOR OLD WINE)
Well, someone better give thanks…
1 Bottle of Red Spanish Wine
4oz of Orange Juice
2oz Lemon Juice
4oz Spiced Simple Syrup
1 Orange, sliced into wheels
Up to 4oz of other fruit juices you may have (cranberry, pineapple, etc.) and whatever fruit you might want to add in.
Optional: 6oz of Brandy
Optional: Soda Water to top
Mix it all together the night before and let it sit and marry; you can prepare up to four days ahead of time.
Pour a glass over ice and top with soda water if you want to lengthen it, or drink as is.
You definitely found your weird uncle’s jokes funnier when you didn’t understand what he was saying.
The third stage is slippery: Bargaining.
Somehow, the football game was on. Well, one of them. It was either the Cowboys or the Lions or the other game no one cared about, not even your uncles and boy cousins or the one “aunt” who wasn’t a blood relative and always wore that jersey when you saw her. You tried to convince them of a movie instead, maybe Elf was on TNT? A Christmas Story was certainly on TBS, but it was no use, but you learned quickly that it was easy to get swept up in the fervor, that it felt good to root. Get him! What a lousy call. Chug! God, it was like the human spirit was built to urge combatants onward with guttural throat sounds and sporadic fist-pumping. You, too, believed the refs were blind, that the other team had been juicing and snorting, and that next year it would be a better season. Somehow, at the bottom of it all, there was aspiration and hope. Which, if you were honest, was a nice change of pace, and—wait, how many shots had you taken? Was this still your first beer? What time was it?
Cocktail #3: Cowboy & Lion Gal
Name a more iconic duo than a beer & shot? A ripper & sipper? Cowboy & Lion Gal. (Not to be confused with the two football teams that, your weird uncle said, never play each other on Thanksgiving, which, thanks for the information?)
1 Can of Craft Beer (brought by a cousin who wanted to try it but didn’t “get it”)
1 Shot of Rye Whiskey (for every touchdown)
Pop that top, pour that brown; it’s time to get down. (Guitar music twangs in the distance…)
The fourth stage is hard: Depression.
By dusk, most of the cousins were gone because they had to go to their S.O.’s dinners, and everyone else was tired or old, or both, and so it was just you and your parents and an aunt or two who were still playing cards. The food was all but picked over or packed away. Greasy Ziplocs of mashed potatoes, turkey mummified in tin foil, jiggly bowls of gravy. It was all gone, just like what’s their name who ghosted you, and suddenly you became worried about your friends and how they were doing. Did they go somewhere for Thanksgiving or stay home, alone? You should have invited someone. Or all of them. But you hadn’t and they were probably all alone and you’re still single (thank you, grandma), and the pumpkin pie was gone—and there was just that old bottle of scotch, heavy with dust, pushed to the back of the cabinet. You eyed the leftover sweet potato casserole, heard one of a bajillion familiar lines from A Christmas Story (on the TV now; thank you, grandma) and figured, okay, one more. For all your friends.
Cocktail #4: CASSEROLE’D FASHION
Where there’s a will, there’s a way to make leftovers into a cocktail syrup.
2oz Blended Scotch
0.5oz Sweet Potato Syrup*
1 dash Vanilla Extract
Add ingredients to a tin; add ice and stir for a 60 count.
Strain into a glass with a large cube of ice and garnish with a lemon medallion.
Let the dreams come.
(Note: Sweet Potato Syrup—Add 4oz of cooked sweet potato, 4oz of water, and 4oz of brown sugar to a pot and bring to a boil. Reduce to medium and simmer for 10 minutes, then remove from heat and allow to cool for 20 minutes. Strain through a coffee filter to remove solids [they’re delicious, eat them].)
The final stage: Acceptance.
You were on the couch when your parents woke you up. It was still dark. Your head was an aquarium and your brain was floating at the surface and, for some reason, your knee hurt? They asked if you still wanted to go Black Friday shopping. “You know,” they say. “For grandma?” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel the lusty tug of sleep. Yes. Of course you want to go. And you were up and full of water and coffee but still, you lagged. A lack of something came to mind, like humors and elements before vitamins and nutrients. But the thought of a whole breakfast made your stomach punch up into the back of your throat. Luckily, your parents had been on a smoothie kick—because of course they had—and you laughed peering into the fridge with half open eyes already thinking about the glorious two-, maybe three-, hour nap you were going to take later. This was it. Your life. And it could only get better from here, you thought. You were wrong, we all were, but in 2019, it got you through December, and even now those blips of Thanksgiving past playing like an old movie in your mind help you look towards next year, and the one after that. Who knows what it’ll all be like, but at least it will be like something. And you know what? That’ll have to do.
Cocktail #5: ORANGE-SPIRATIONAL MARY
It’s like a Bloody Mary, but generally positive about things and aspirational about the future. You’re doing great, sweety.
2oz Gin (or Vodka)
3oz Carrot Juice
2oz Bloody Mary Juice
1oz Pear Juice
1oz Orange Juice
2 dashes Hot Sauce
1 dash Worcestershire Sauce
1/2 tsp Grated Ginger
Pinch of Salt & Pepper
Optional: Tajin Rim
Mix everything together and pour over ice.
Drink and keep on keeping on and living the dream and whatever else you like to say when faced with the existential dread of life. Everything ends, even bad times.