Thanksgiving: Two Cultures, One Table

What’s up, my Eaters!

Fall has always been my favorite season. Now as the temperatures begin to drop, the hummingbirds begin to retreat to the south, and night time becomes to come earlier, there is no better time to start thinking about Thanksgiving, which has always been my favorite holiday. As a chef and foodie, it excites me more than any other day of the year. But as a first-generation Jamaican American, it also carries a deeper meaning. For me, Thanksgiving is the holiday that has always most represented America. It’s the day that reminds me, this is what my parents sacrificed so much for. It’s symbolic of all the blessings, opportunities, and hard work that this country has taught us and given us.

Growing up, my parents were determined that our family would embrace the traditions of an American Thanksgiving. The staples were always there: roasted turkey, ham glazed just right, stuffing rich with broth, candied yams, macaroni and cheese, gravy, cornbread, and cranberry sauce — sometimes from a can, sometimes homemade. Those dishes gave us a sense of belonging, a connection to the wider American story.

But it was equally important to my parents that our table also represented our roots and Jamaican heritage. So alongside the turkey and the yams, there was jerk chicken fresh off the grill, curried goat falling off the bone, oxtails simmered to perfection, rice and peas cooked in coconut milk with ginger and thyme, and always a pot of soup to start the evening meal. Dessert included rum cake, gizzadas, and other island sweets that reminded us where we came from.

And then there were the dishes that both cultures shared an appreciation for: collard greens, green beans, glazed carrots, roasted corn. Those foods became a kind of bridge between two worlds — familiar to everyone at the table, no matter if you were family or not.

In my Jamaican household, Thanksgiving was never just one meal. It was an all-day feast. The day began with a traditional Jamaican breakfast: ackee and saltfish, fried dumplings, fried plantains, and boiled green bananas. That spread alone could have been a holiday. But by midday we were already grazing again — leftovers from breakfast, deli sandwiches stacked high, charcuterie boards, and of course, jerk chicken. Guests would wander in and out, making plates, telling stories, laughing in the kitchen.

The highlight of the day, though, was always Thanksgiving dinner — never before six o’clock in our house. By then, the house was bursting with 20 to 30 people, packed into the living room, the kitchen, and around the table. The menu stretched across counters and tabletops: turkey and ham, stuffing, yams, macaroni and cheese, cornbread, rice and peas, curried goat, oxtails, collards, green beans, glazed carrots, soups, and more desserts than you could count. There was always vanilla ice cream and pound cake, assorted cookies, and the crown jewel of them all to me — my sister’s sweet potato pie. To this day, I haven’t tasted a pie that rivals hers.

As a child, this was all I knew. I didn’t think twice about it. It was just Thanksgiving — loud, joyful, overflowing with food and people. But as I got older, I began to realize that my experience was uniquely different from most of the Thanksgivings I encountered outside my home. While other families ate a single afternoon meal of turkey and potatoes, ours was an all-day affair where American staples and Jamaican favorites lived side by side. What once seemed ordinary to me became a point of pride.

Today, as a chef, I see how deeply those experiences shaped me. They taught me to celebrate tradition but also to innovate, to honor heritage but also to create something new. My Thanksgiving table today reflects that. I serve smoked turkey, but sometimes it carries a jerk rub. Sweet potato pie is always there, but so is rum cake. Mac and cheese sits beside rice and peas. To me, this isn’t a clash of cultures — it’s a celebration of them.

And what I love most — what I loved then and still love now — are those moments when the two worlds collide on the plate. When you can taste the tart sweetness  of homemade cranberry sauce as it meets the gingery coconut of rice and peas, as they swim in a slurry of gravy created by candied yams and curried goat. That bite, that moment, is why I love Thanksgiving. To me, that moment — and all the others like it — are why I am grateful for my life in this country. That moment is what makes me the chef and creator I am.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Thanksgiving isn’t only about food. It’s about people. It’s about gathering twenty-five folks into one house, filling it with laughter, football on TV, kids sneaking cookies, and the smell of turkey and curry drifting together through the air. It’s about gratitude — not just for what’s on the plate, but for the stories, sacrifices, and blessings that made it possible.

So as we move into this season, I want to challenge you to start thinking about your Thanksgiving a little earlier this year. Don’t just default to the same menu or the same guest list out of habit. Embrace your traditions, yes — hold on to the flavors that root you. But also consider adding something new. Maybe it’s a dish from another culture, maybe it’s inviting someone new to your table, maybe it’s blessing a neighbor or friend who might otherwise spend the day alone. It can also be serving or volunteering at a local soup kitchen or feeding program.

Thanksgiving should absolutely celebrate fall and honor tradition, but it should also reflect you. Your story. Your family. Your community. Because here’s the truth — Thanksgiving can look and taste however you want it to.

Until next week, eat well and give thanks — island style, American style, or maybe a little bit of both. As always, come see my team and I at the Peachtree City Farmer’s Market every Saturday.