Over the past 12 years my house has been the defacto place for Thanksgiving dinner since it was easier to host it with small children underfoot. I’m a strong believer in family traditions, so I started early and often to establish a core meal for my boys to remember when I’m long gone. So my dinner consists of turkey, stuffing, french green beans, brandy yams, dinner rolls, and cranberry sauce.
Growing up, the canned cranberry sauce was the standard. As a kid, I liked it, but as an adult, I realized cranberries were an actual fruit and it was pretty easy to take the fruit and make a delicious sauce to compliment the meal that didn’t have the ringed imprint of the can on it. The first time the extended family came over and experienced my cranberry sauce, it was a shock to their expectations. Initially I felt apprehensive about this break with tradition, but I knew I was making my own tradition for my husband and sons, so I soildered forward.
So for years I had to endure the quiet murmers of wondering where the canned sauce was hidden. Proudly I served my sauce and watched my sons and husband happily eat it up. Well, today I got a phone call that didn’t move my irritation needle, but I was surprised it took over a decade for the request to be made. I was asked if it was okay to bring the canned sauce to dinner. I could’ve been a crab and said no, but it’s not a battle worth fighting. There will be two sauces on the table illuminating two traditions. Life is too short to sweat over small things.