When planning a Thanksgiving menu, it's always a balancing act

In the words of J. Kenji Lopez-Alt, master of the kitchen and teacher of many, we are given not just culinary advice but a reflection on the very art of living: “When planning a Thanksgiving menu, it’s always a balancing act between representing all the classics and satisfying all the members of your family.” Though spoken of food, these words reach far beyond the table. They remind us that life itself is a feast, where tradition and individuality, memory and change, must be weighed and woven together in harmony.

The Thanksgiving menu is more than a list of dishes; it is a tapestry of memory. The classics—the turkey, the stuffing, the pie—carry the weight of ancestors, echoing the hands of mothers and grandmothers, fathers and uncles, who once prepared the same. To neglect them is to sever a thread in the cloth of remembrance. Yet to cling only to tradition, without thought for the tastes and needs of the living, is to turn the feast into a prison. Here lies the balancing act: to honor what was, while welcoming what is.

History itself speaks of this struggle. Consider the Pilgrims and the Native peoples at the first Thanksgiving. Each brought their own foods, their own ways of preparation, their own symbols of life. The feast was not one-sided but blended: wildfowl with corn, venison with grains, European methods with native ingredients. It was, even then, a balance of old and new, foreign and familiar. And it is this spirit—of bringing together different voices at one table—that Lopez-Alt captures in his words.

The meaning grows clearer when we reflect on family. For in every gathering, there are those who love the old ways and those who seek the new. The elder who longs for the stuffing of childhood. The youth who asks for spice, for variety, for change. The vegetarian who cannot share the turkey. The child who eats only bread. To please them all is no easy task; it demands patience, creativity, and above all, love. For the menu is not about food alone—it is about the people for whom it is prepared.

The wisdom of Lopez-Alt’s words extends beyond the feast into the wider banquet of life. In our communities, our workplaces, our nations, we too must perform this balancing act. We must preserve the traditions that give us roots, while adapting to the voices and needs of those who live now. A society that clings only to the past grows brittle; a society that abandons its past loses its soul. The feast of harmony lies in blending both, so that all who gather may feel seen, nourished, and remembered.

The lesson, then, is this: when you gather your family, or your people, let your heart be as the host’s table—broad enough to hold both memory and innovation. Do not despise the old ways, for they are the foundation. Do not ignore the new desires, for they are the future. Instead, weave them together in balance, that all may find joy and belonging. For what is a feast if even one guest leaves hungry?

Practically, this means listening with care before planning. Ask what others cherish. Ask what others need. Honor the voices of the past, but welcome the voices of the present. In doing so, you do more than plan a meal—you build a space of love where no one is forgotten. And when the meal is served, let it be not only food upon the table, but peace, respect, and joy among those who share it.

Thus, the saying of J. Kenji Lopez-Alt becomes a teaching for all generations: life is a balancing act, and family is the feast. To host with wisdom is to know that satisfaction comes not from the dishes alone, but from the hearts that are filled around the table. And in this, the true meaning of Thanksgiving is fulfilled.