Ask Rachel

Dear Rachel,

What’s the etiquette for bringing food to Thanksgiving dinner? My spouse and I are going to a friend’s house this year. I asked what we could bring, and they said they had it all covered. I take them at their word, and I intend to do dishes and help out. My wife, however, thinks it’s upon us to provide an entire duplicate Thanksgiving dinner lest our hosts think us rude for showing up empty handed. Who’s right, Rachel?

– I’m Right

Dear Mr(s). Right,

Oh, you’re totally right. But hear me out: if your spouse insists that you bring an entire second meal to the festivities, think of the thirds and fourths you can eat! Think of the leftovers – the true meaning of Thanksgiving if ever there was one. Think of how you’ll be so comatose that you can’t be bothered to help with the dishes, and your spouse has to cart you home in a wheelbarrow. God I love this holiday.

– Pass the pie, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

My friend is always taking animal spottings as signs. We can’t hear an owl or see a coyote without her exclaiming what a good omen it is (she never takes them as bad omens, I’ve noticed). Eagles mean wisdom! Bunny rabbits mean good luck! Rainbow trout mean financial security and wellbeing! To me, these animals just live here. Why on earth do people believe animals are somehow mystical spirit guides? Or am I the one missing something?

– Neighsayer

Dear Rational Monkey,

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s ... oh yeah, it’s just a bird. I’m pretty certain if you saw a tiger in town, that would be a sign alright ... a sign that someone lost their tiger. The animals are just doing their thang. But who’s to say that there’s not a higher power sending messages to humans like you through their animal mail carriers? I’ll tell you one thing, though. If the postman rings twice, the cougar only pounces once.

– Ding dong, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Alright. Time for you to settle the longest-running dispute in my family. In-laws have been disappeared for chiming in on this question. Dogs have vanished from back yards. Kids haven’t been sold into slavery or anything, but they’ve been sent to bed very, very early. The question – answer carefully, at your own peril – is this: Cranberry sauce. Smooth or chunky?

– The Cran-daddy of Them All

Dear Morpheus,

Trick question. The true quiz is, canned or homemade? You see, smooth is the only way to go with  canned. Homemade must be chunky. There’s no choice. And really, it doesn’t matter. The cranberry sauce exists solely to add a splash of crimson to a plate that’s full of tans and oranges and yellows. That’s it. It doesn’t hardly count as a dish. So if you’re bringing something to the party, don’t you dare bring the cranberry sauce unless it’s got a whole turkey next to it.

– Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, Rachel