It’s official: I’m a grownup.  For the first time in history, I will be hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my entire family at my house.    That’s right.  It’s finally time, once and for all, to put every single wedding gift to use.  Those wicker candlesticks, the weird serving platters, that electric carving knife, those starchy cloth napkins.  So hear ye, hear ye, one and all.  In the style of Chris Rock, here are Gourmet Grrl’s 

10 Rules for Thanksgiving at My House

1.  If you are vegan, then you are bringing the vegan dish for our table.

2.  We eat pickles and olives as appetizers.  Not fancy olives, canned black olives.  It’s a inner city Chicago thang.  We don’t eat hummus, or tapenade or baba ganoush.  You can bring it, but you will take it home. 

3.  Now that I’m no longer the one forced to sit there, we will reintroduce the kids table.  It’s a rite of passage and every kid must experience it otherwise he/she will grow up to be a self-entitled wussy with obsessive table manners.

4.  Each year I invent a “brand new sidedish” and each year I’m nearly the only one who eats it.  Try not eating it at my house.  Just try.

5.  The Reverend Mother leads the Thanksgiving prayer.  No one else.  It will be as long or as short as she damn well wants it to be.  It may involve audience participation, or even role play.  But it’s all hers.

6.  I don’t believe in deep fried turkeys.  I don’t believe in tofurky.  You will not find either one of these at my house.

7.  Nobody wants the white meat, so that means everybody better eat some.

8.  At my house, we’re going to have a box for charity on the table.  No money, no food.

9.  Anyone, guest or otherwise, may wack Dad with a spatula when he does one of the following:  a.  Finishes his meal before anyone else has sat down.  b.  Eats too much pie or anything else with sugar in it.  c.  Takes over the entire stove while making gravy   d. Eats through the prayer.

10.  The House keeps the leftovers. 

Now You Know.