Read by Matilda Longbottom

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am reminded of how precious time with my extended family truly is. I also realize how incredibly blessed I am, even though it can be trying at times. It never fails that with so many of us, discussions (some of them very enthusiastic) are bound to occur. Each Thanksgiving comes the biggest debate of them all: cranberry sauce. The debate is as varied as the cranberry sauce itself. Some people swear by the tangy, textured whole-berry sauce, while others champion the smooth, sweet jelly variety. And then there are those, like me, who simply pass on the cranberry sauce entirely. Despite the clear preferences, this cranberry conundrum has become a beloved tradition in my family, one that brings a unique flavor to our holiday gatherings.

Have you ever wondered where cranberry sauce got its start? Well, I did! It all started a century ago when cranberry grower Marcus Urann began selling canned cranberry sauce to make use of surplus and damaged berries. This ingenious solution turned cranberries into a year-round treat and solidified their place on our holiday tables. Yet, despite this historic evolution, the cranberry sauce debate remains as spirited as ever.

Every year, our holiday dinner table becomes a battleground of taste preferences. My grandmother, a steadfast purist, insists on serving her homemade whole-berry cranberry sauce. To her, the small bursts of tartness and the vibrant texture are not just a side dish but a labor of love. She takes pride in the way she gently simmers the cranberries with sugar and a hint of orange zest, creating a sauce that’s both visually stunning and deliciously nostalgic. For her, anything less than homemade is simply unacceptable.

In stark contrast stands my dad, who has a deep-seated fondness for the jellied cranberry sauce, straight from the can. The smooth, uniform texture and the way it retains the shape of the can are just how he likes it. It’s a taste of childhood for him, evoking memories of family dinners where the familiar shape and taste of the jellied cranberry sauce were as much a part of the meal as the turkey itself. To him, the jellied sauce is non-negotiable.

The rest of us, the self-proclaimed cranberry skeptics, find ourselves caught in the middle. I am firmly in this camp. Despite the passionate pleas from both sides to give cranberry sauce another chance, I remain consistent in my aversion. The vibrant red sauce, whether whole-berry or jellied, just doesn’t appeal to me. Each year, as the cranberry debate unfolds, I sit back and watch the back-and-forth with a bemused smile, content to remain a cranberry cynic.

Yet, it’s not just the debate that makes this tradition special. It’s the way it brings our family together. The lively discussions about which cranberry sauce is superior are punctuated by laughter and playful banter. It’s a reminder that while we may have differing tastes, the real joy of the season lies in our shared moments around the table. The cranberry sauce debate, in all its intensity, becomes a symbol of our family’s love and unity.

So, when you gather around your own holiday table this season, what side will you choose? Will you champion the tangy whole-berry sauce, embrace the nostalgic jellied variety, or join the ranks of those who simply don’t understand the fuss? No matter your preference, remember that these debates, these little differences, are what make our gatherings memorable and heartwarming. After all, it’s not just about the cranberry sauce—it’s about the shared laughter, the cherished memories, and the love that binds us together during this special time of year. ❖