Even if you are vegetarian, you do want to have a stuffing for

In the thoughtful words of Daniel Humm, we hear not only the musings of a chef, but the wisdom of one who understands the sacred rhythms of food and memory: “Even if you are vegetarian, you do want to have a stuffing for Thanksgiving. The stuffing is not so much about the vegetables, but it’s very unique to the season.” At first, this appears to be a reflection on culinary tradition, yet hidden within is a deeper truth about belonging, ritual, and the way certain foods become vessels of meaning far beyond their ingredients.

The heart of the quote lies in the idea that stuffing is not mere food, but symbol. It matters little whether one eats meat or vegetables, whether one’s diet is bound by choice or necessity—at Thanksgiving, the stuffing represents continuity with a tradition. It is the taste of the season itself, the dish that embodies autumn’s abundance, the turning of the year, and the collective gratitude of a people. Thus, Humm reminds us that the feast is not only about sustenance but about remembrance, ritual, and identity.

The ancients also understood this. In the festival rites of Demeter, the Greeks did not simply consume bread and grain because they were hungry—they did so because those foods carried the essence of harvest, the reminder of the earth’s gift, and the binding of community in shared cycles of sowing and reaping. Similarly, in the Hebrew tradition, unleavened bread at Passover was not about taste or ingredients alone, but about remembering deliverance. So too with stuffing at Thanksgiving: it is not the bread or the vegetables that matter most, but the symbolic act of partaking in what marks the season as sacred.

Consider also the immigrant families of America, who came with their own cuisines, their own spices, their own dishes. They may have replaced turkey with lamb, or added rice, noodles, or dumplings to their feast. Yet still they made room for stuffing, in some form, because it tied them to the shared tradition of their adopted land. A Polish family might season it with dill, a Chinese family with soy and scallions, a Mexican family with chilies—but always, the stuffing became a bridge between heritage and belonging. It was not about the exact ingredients, but about being part of a larger story.

Humm’s reflection, then, is not about culinary technique but about the mystery of ritual foods. These dishes are more than nourishment; they are carriers of memory, symbols of gratitude, and reminders that each season has its offerings, and that to honor them is to live in rhythm with time itself. To eat stuffing at Thanksgiving is to step into a river of tradition that began centuries ago, with pilgrims and harvests, and continues today in countless homes across the land.

The lesson for us is clear: honor the foods of your traditions, for they are not merely tastes on the tongue but anchors of memory and identity. Even if you adapt them, even if you change their form, do not cast them aside. To make a dish like stuffing is to connect with something larger than yourself—it is to give thanks not only for food but for the ties that bind you to family, to culture, and to the passage of seasons.

Practical wisdom follows. When you celebrate, do not think only of what pleases the appetite, but also of what pleases the soul. Prepare the foods of your people, even if only in small ways. Teach your children why they matter. Share them with friends so that the traditions live on. And if you are far from home, or your table is small, know that even a simple bowl of stuffing can carry within it the weight of centuries, the warmth of family, and the reminder that gratitude is always in season.

Thus, in the voice of Daniel Humm, we are taught that Thanksgiving is not about the ingredients of the feast but about the spirit of remembrance. The stuffing, humble and simple, becomes a sacred emblem of the season, uniting all who partake in it—meat-eater, vegetarian, immigrant, native-born—in one table of gratitude. And in that unity, the feast becomes not just a meal, but a celebration of life itself.