An Open Letter to Cranberry Sauce

Dear Cranberry Sauce,

Has it been a year already? I can’t help but feel a little guilty that I’ve been so bad about staying in touch, but there have been so many other recipes to make.

Now that it’s Thanksgiving again, I find myself getting nostalgic as I look back on our years together.

Remember the old days when I didn’t even realize you were a fruit? Those were some crazy times.

All those years, my mother presented you as a perfectly round slice, ridges from the can still visible on your sides. I thought you were a gelatin dessert.

I still remember the year I discovered you were an actual berry. I insisted on making “real” cranberry sauce that Thanksgiving.

My mother was amazed at how easy you were to prepare, and we all felt much fancier having the real deal instead of the canned stuff.

But then there were so many leftovers ... If you only came in smaller bags.

Everyone wanted the turkey, stuffing, potatoes. But you, Cranberry Sauce, you were just a tiny spoonful on the plate, an obligatory sampling to appease our sense of tradition.

Over the years I tried so many variations on your recipe in hopes that people would like you more. I prepared you as a sauce, as chutney and I even added orange liqueur to spice things up.

Still, we’d have a giant vat of you left after all the other leftovers were gone.

Then there were the years when you were my assignment to bring to Thanksgiving dinner when I celebrated with friends instead of family. Everyone else got the glory of the bird, or the decadence of desserts. I got stuck with you.

As you got passed around the table, some folks would take a taste just to be polite. Others wouldn’t even bother taking you at all. They’d just pass you to the next person.

I confess, that’s when I started to resent you a little.

You’re so bitter. I had to drown you in sugar and even then, dinner guests barely found you appealing. But it was never personal.

I mean, you’re high in vitamin C, fiber and antioxidants.

I do apologize for the years I stuck you with the needle and squashed you on the chain between pieces of popcorn. It must have been horrifying for you to be disemboweled by the birds like that.

But what else was I supposed to do with that giant bag still in the freezer? I had no choice. I had to relegate you to décor.

I’ve had people tell me that you’re delicious in a cake or a bread pudding. But I wonder if that’s what would make you happy. Haven’t you endured enough indignity at the table?

Why should you be forced to be anything other than what you are?

Yes, you’re bitter. But, so is life sometimes.

I think Thanksgiving should be more than a day of looking at our lives through rose-colored glasses. I think we should not only remember, but also honor the hard times as we give thanks. Without dark, we would not have light. Without bitter, we would not have sweet.

I think you serve as an important reminder of the hardships we must sometimes endure, the trials that make our blessings seem that much more meaningful.

And maybe that’s why you have so many leftovers – to remind us that the hardships are never over, but that if we focus on the sweet in the face of the bitter, we can overcome.

Maybe you knew this all along.

Ah, you are wise, Cranberry Sauce.

Well, I’ll see you on Thursday. I’m looking forward to it … and will again next year.

With gratitude,
Julie