The First Edition Of An Annual Tradition

This article is part of The G Spot, a weekly segment where criticista Gordistotle gives insight into the pop culture happenings of now through opinions or anecdotes on his life living in  Toronto.

As someone who loves to gorge themselves, Thanksgiving has always gotten me excited. It also kicks off the busiest stretch of the year; Halloween, Christmas, my Birthday (the most important of any holiday), and New Years Eve. There’s very few things to look forward to in the fall. The weather’s turning to shit, friends start bunkering down and prioritizing their academics over their social life, and the ever looming presence of winter. Holidays are the one saving grace. 

Normally I would make the trek back to my parents in Ottawa for any feast-related holiday, with this year marking the first that I didn’t. I had just made the 5 hour train ride earlier in September and I wasn’t too inclined to make it again. Don’t get me wrong, I love and miss my family, but this year, for the first time, I wouldn’t be going home for Thanksgiving. 

That didn’t mean that I was going Thanksgivingless, come on. I would’ve just made the 5 hour trip, I need my turkey. I was grateful to be invited over for Thanksgiving dinner by my boyfriend Sean’s family. His parents cooked up a lovely Thanksgiving feast that we all enjoyed over a few drinks, and this time I made it through without talking about Sabrina Carpenter sucking NHL cocks.  

I had gotten the idea to host a little “Friendsgiving” the Monday prior, and invited a couple friends over to Sean’s house. #ChosenFamilyVibes. I’d have held it at mine, but I have a table that sits four people, and a futon, that’s about it.

After heavy consideration, we decided on a couple dishes to serve our guests. It’s best to go in with the mindset that no one’s bringing anything. I’d rather there be more food than not enough, you know? It’s called good hosting. If I was going to put on my Bree Van de Kamp wig, I had to make sure I was doing it right. 

After returning from his parents’ house, I got to work. Sean had actual work (on a Sunday, yes he works hard), so I played domestic. There was no room for error, grocery stores and the LCBO are closed on holidays. Sunday consisted of mad dashes around the city to get goat cheese, to Prosecco. Sean suggested we make a Matty Matheson recipe, you know, something huge. A sizable group was coming over, we had quite a group of people to satisfy. Pro tip, if you want to fill people up, make a meal that consists of 4 pounds of beef and cheese.

After having a hissy fit in Farm Boy over the price of ground beef (I really wanted to go all out for this thing, ok?) I succumbed to my budgetary restrictions. There’s nothing wrong with Fresh Co., I can go without Farm to Table for one meal…

After procuring all the ingredients for the lasagna, a goat cheese arugula salad, and a baked brie, I let my hair down and relaxed. It was stressful, it was raining, I was in a pissy mood, and I just wanted to be done with the whole thing. I'm more of a Susan, homemaker isn’t really my thing. I even thought of canceling the dinner entirely, I’m dramatic like that. This was the first real dinner party I’d ever host. I wanted it to be perfect. 

It’s finally the special day, and it’s time to get cooking. Sean’s always apprehensive about letting me cook, but this recipe demanded a bit more attention than our usual meals so he begrudgingly let me man a burner. After a long two hours, for a recipe that was only supposed to take an hour and a half, the lasagna was finally done. 

With the main dish finished and the house tidied, we could finally rest. Our guests slowly started to trickle in around 6, and by 6:40 everyone had arrived. The baked Brie was a hit and my friend Serin made an amazing focaccia that paired perfectly with it. After stuffing our faces, it was time for dinner! There was tons of food, people brought sides, desserts, and of course, 5 litres of peach rum margarita. A staple going forward for every Gordsgiving.

Not to toot my own horn, but dinner was a success. Conversation (and drinks) were flowing, everyone was having a good time! As the hours rolled on people started to duck out, it was a weekday tomorrow after all. By 11, everyone had cleared out and the night was officially over. 

While working my office job the next day, I stopped to wonder what Thanksgiving will look like next year. Will Gordsgiving become an annual tradition? What do I need to do to make it more elaborate? Hopefully by next year I’ll have an apartment with a dining room so my friends don’t need to eat outside in the middle of October. Don’t worry though, everyone bundled up, and no one’s come back to me saying they caught a cold.