Thanksgiving Across America: A Parade of Culinary Crimes

By Michael Kelman Portney

Thanksgiving is America’s national excuse to commit food-related atrocities in the name of tradition, and every region has its own unique way of saying, “Calories don’t count if you’re arguing with your relatives.” Sure, we could all just roast a turkey, mash some potatoes, and call it a day, but where’s the chaos in that? No, no, this is a holiday about pushing the limits of what should legally be considered food.

Let’s take a fully unhinged tour of Thanksgiving across the United States, where the turkey isn’t the only thing getting stuffed—it’s also your sense of dignity.

The South: Fry Harder, Die Greasier

The South doesn’t just celebrate Thanksgiving—it declares war on cholesterol. The star of the show is the deep-fried turkey, which is essentially a meat grenade waiting to happen. Nothing says “gratitude” like lowering a massive bird into a bubbling cauldron of oil while yelling, “Stand back, y’all!” and hoping for the best.

And then there are the sides. Sweet potato casserole isn’t just a dish; it’s dessert in disguise. Topped with marshmallows, brown sugar, and probably a sprinkle of insulin, it dares you to look your cardiologist in the eye. Meanwhile, pecan pie is just a giant caramelized nut slab pretending to be dessert, and deviled eggs? Oh, they’re there too—because apparently no meal is complete without something that smells like a dare.

The Midwest: A Casserole Arms Race

Ah, the Midwest, where the motto is, “If it can be layered in a dish and baked, it’s Thanksgiving food.” Green bean casserole is the crown jewel here, made with canned green beans, canned soup, and a heaping mound of fried onions that serve as both topping and existential question: “Is this even food?”

But wait, there’s more. Jell-O salad, that horrifying relic of the 1950s, makes its annual appearance. It’s neon, it’s jiggly, and it’s got surprises inside. Shredded carrots? Chunks of pineapple? Marshmallows? Yes, yes, and OH NO. It’s less of a salad and more of a science experiment your relatives insist on serving because “Grandma used to make it.” (Grandma also smoked unfiltered cigarettes, but you don’t see anyone bringing those to the table.)

The Northeast: Pretentious Pilgrim Food

Up in the Northeast, Thanksgiving dinner is basically a reenactment of a colonial farm-to-table restaurant. Turkeys are sourced from “heritage” breeds, which means they cost $300 and taste exactly the same as the Butterball your neighbor bought at Walmart.

Stuffing isn’t just stuffing—it’s “savory bread pudding” made with artisanal sourdough and wild herbs that someone picked out of their backyard while wearing a $200 Patagonia jacket. Cranberry sauce? It’s compote, thank you very much, and it’s been simmered for hours with orange zest and wine because plain cranberries are for peasants.

And let’s not forget the pumpkin pie, which has been replaced by some avant-garde nonsense like “pumpkin mousse tartlets with a brûléed top.” Congratulations, Northeast: you’ve turned Thanksgiving into a pretentious episode of Top Chef.

The West Coast: Foodie Fever Dream

Out on the West Coast, Thanksgiving isn’t just a meal—it’s a statement. Turkeys are replaced with tofurkeys, which look like sad beige footballs and taste like existential dread. Mashed potatoes are made with cauliflower because carbs are apparently a war crime, and gravy? Oh, that’s been replaced with a “plant-based jus.”

There’s always a kale salad, and don’t even think about asking for ranch dressing—it’s vinaigrette or bust. Dessert might be something insane like “raw vegan pumpkin cheesecake,” which is neither cheesecake nor food but rather a passive-aggressive way of saying, “I’m better than you.”

The Southwest: Spicy Turkeys and Tamale Mayhem

In the Southwest, Thanksgiving is where tradition goes to party. The turkey isn’t roasted—it’s smoked, grilled, or covered in chipotle rub and roasted over an open flame because ovens are for wimps.

And don’t expect boring stuffing. Oh no, you’re getting tamales—because if you’re going to shove something inside a bird, why not make it exciting? Sides include chorizo-spiked everything, and instead of cranberry sauce, there’s probably salsa verde. Is it still Thanksgiving? Who cares? You’re too busy sweating through your stretchy pants.

The Pacific Northwest: A Rainy Food Cult

In the Pacific Northwest, Thanksgiving dinner feels like an audition for a Portlandia sketch. The turkey is smoked with wood from a tree that someone definitely hugged first, and everything else tastes like it was foraged by someone named “River.”

Sides include wild mushrooms sautéed in locally sourced butter, roasted root vegetables that look like they came straight out of Better Homes and Gardens, and at least one dish that involves quinoa. Dessert? How about a cedar-infused pumpkin panna cotta served in tiny mason jars, because why use plates when you can be insufferable instead?

Florida: The Culinary Thunderdome

Florida doesn’t do Thanksgiving like the rest of the country. Here, it’s less of a meal and more of a fever dream. The turkey might be grilled, fried, or replaced entirely with a smoked alligator. There’s a 50% chance someone’s deep-frying key lime pie, and at least one dish will contain cubed Spam.

Alcohol flows freely, because nothing says “family holiday” like tequila shots at 2 p.m., and dessert is just a Publix sheet cake with “Happy Birthday Jesus” scrawled on it because someone got the holidays mixed up.

Conclusion: A Nation of Culinary Chaos

Thanksgiving is proof that America is a land of endless possibility—and questionable decisions. From deep-fried turkeys to kale-infused nonsense, every region has its own way of turning this holiday into an edible disaster.

So whether you’re eating Jell-O salad, tamale-stuffed turkey, or a sad vegan loaf, just remember: the true spirit of Thanksgiving isn’t about the food—it’s about judging everyone else’s food choices. Happy eating, America!