This Thanksgiving was a celebration that lasted several days long for me and my family — a tradition I will fight to keep in the coming years. The holiday week began on Wednesday as I traveled to my Gram’s home, where I was taught a generations-old Ukrainian family recipe for Halupki or, as we call them, piggies. Piggies aren’t traditionally a Thanksgiving food, but after a friend remarked that she wished they could be made for her future wedding, I asked my Gram to teach me the recipe.
We stuffed the cabbage leaves in two increments. First, with a ground turkey mixture and then with ground beef as the protein source. It’s a tedious process — each leaf must be stuffed, rolled, pinched and then carefully placed in the pot. I have yet to tell my friend, but if she wants these for her wedding, she ought to keep the guest list small.
Between the assembling of the turkey and beef piggies, we took a break for lunch and to listen to my cousin, Placido, practice his Christmas songs on the piano. I marveled at how, even in his preteen years, he plays with the swiftness and confidence of a seasoned performer. At the conclusion of “Silent Night,” he rose abruptly, which I mistook for the end of the mini-concert. I was quickly proven wrong when, not 30 seconds later, his fast footsteps brought with them a large packet of sheet music. Before I could understand the chaos of the past 30 seconds, the opening notes of “Beauty and the Beast,” from my all-time favorite Disney film, began to fill the room. It was at that moment that I lost all hope of holding in my emotions and let a few tears fall from my eyes.
Later in the week, I went to my cousins’ home to help prepare Thanksgiving dinner — part two — a celebration that brought together my dad’s side of the family. Dinner was not until 5 that night, but we decided to begin the day’s preparations in the late morning hours, which ended up being the best decision.
After the morning’s prep work was done, I found myself on a cousin-led tour of the quaint town of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. We made stops all over town — first, a coffee shop in which there was a glass window so large it seemed as if the whole Christmas-lit town could be seen from inside. Next, we ventured to an old-fashioned candy store, where a good-sized cardboard box could be stuffed with an endless assortment of candies for just a few dollars. It was here, too, that I learned of my cousin Bella’s obsession with everything pickles. Next door was a locally owned bookshop that, immediately upon entering, smelled of old paper and vanilla. It was while browsing through the seemingly endless stacks of novels that I learned of my 13-year-old cousin’s fascination with Anne Boleyn, an English queen whose name, until that moment, had been unfamiliar to me. Our last stop was the record store, where the jazz-infused background music and the walls lined with vintage albums seemed to transport me to another era. As the four of us meandered through the aisles, little bits of conversation offered me glimpses into the lives of my younger cousins, like the discovery that if my cousin Adelle could claim anything in the shop as her own, it would be the worn cassette tapes of Aerosmith and Alabama.
Following our trip around town, we headed back to a home now full of laughter and warmth. The counters, which were empty a few hours before, were now filled with dozens of gluten-free dishes made by multiple members of our little family. This change in our menu was a result of my aunt’s diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, a disease that can be aggravated by the consumption of gluten. While many families might view such an adjustment as a burden, I felt proud to be surrounded by people who saw it as an opportunity to try and make something novel and delicious. As we sat down and listened to my uncle say grace, I looked at the plate in front of me and knew that this day was not so much about the meal but more about the multitude of shared experiences that brought me closer to people I love.
There is no question that the beautiful moments that filled my week were due to an immense amount of privilege that exists in my little world, but I would also like to think a large part of my joy comes as a result of my learned ability to notice these moments of beauty. In the past holidays, the stress of the surrounding days — and even the preparation of meals — often seemed to cause a sort of rush, but if there’s one thing that this past week taught me, it’s that if we are afforded the privilege, we ought to slow down.
Food, in both its preparation and consumption, invites us to do just this. Whether it be the methodical rhythm of stuffing each individual cabbage leaf or sitting around a table filled with family to enjoy a meal, we are invited to pause and be mindful of the present moment. I hope, for you too, that this Thanksgiving was a reminder that it’s not the food itself that truly sustains us but rather the joy-stuffed moments it allows us to embrace — that which truly nourishes our hearts and bodies.
Akira Kopec is a junior majoring in integrative neuroscience.
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