For the first time in ten or so years, I am not responsible for Thanksgiving dinner. My mother (who cooked dinner for a family of five every night for 18 years and did it so well I actually thought she enjoyed it) was more than happy to hand over the reigns once I took an interest in cooking in my teens. I've cooked Thanksgivings for my family, and for strays in years where I lived outside the Bay Area, and I've always loved it. Or wanted to love it.

Thanksgiving is ridiculously stressful. No matter how much you love to cook, how meticulously you plan, how well try to prep it. Every year, I have this insane fantasy where I'm so on top of everything that I actually have time to relax and enjoy a glass of bubbly and some quality time with my family and friends before dinner. If you've ever executed a Thanksgiving meal, I'm sure you know that this fantasy is a fantasy.

For me, the thing that always trips me up and sends me into overload is the same thing that so many people love about the holiday: tradition.

Everyone has some dish, some menu that symbolizes THANKSGIVING and if you don't deliver, you're ruining their holiday.

(As a side note, I've begun to notice that the people with the strongest feelings about what should be on the table are rarely the ones cooking it. Hmmm.)

Some people like mashed potatoes, while others prefer yams. I hate cranberry sauce, but apparently I'm alone on that. And though I hate it, my pride won't let me serve it out of a can, so I make my own. But some people like the canned cranberry sauce, so I have to buy that too. Some prefer pecan or apple pie to pumpkin. Some people don't think their starch portion of the meal will be covered by the stuffing and two kinds of potatoes, and want rolls as well (which usually suck if you buy them from the store or cost a fortune if you get really good ones, which you'll have to get the day before because no bakery is open on Thanksgiving, so they'll be expensive day-old rolls, so you have to bake those yourself). And if any of your guests are vegetarians or God forbid the other "V" word, then you might as well just cut your wrists and call it a day.

I really don't hate Thanksgiving as much as you might think, but I do think it's ironic that we've built the impossibly huge undertaking that is Thanksgiving Dinner from a holiday that's about gathering with the people we love to give thanks for what we have. At the end of the evening, the whole thing is a blur to me. I've had few moments of genuine connection with anyone and what I end up being thankful for is that it's over.

I suspect I'm not alone in feeling this. Anybody who stepped into a grocery store today knows what I'm talking about – you could cut the tension with a knife. This morning I watched a grown woman crying in the produce section because she had been to three stores and none of them, including this one, had fresh sage. Tears. Over herbs.

What's my point? Is it that Thanksgiving sucks? No.

I'm sure that some people are able to pull it off without wanting to find a corner to rock back and forth in. If you're one of those people, I'd love to know your secret. Seriously, leave it in a comment below

This year, I'll be playing the part of kitchen bitch, but I'm sure I'll be back at the helm next Thanksgiving. What will I do differently? Ask for more help? Probably not. I'm a huge control freak and I've come to peace with it. But perhaps there's something to be said for breaking from tradition. If a turkey and all the trimmings is that important, then I think we're missing the point. How about a cassoulet and a fabulous salad? Or Dungeness crab potpies and a fabulous salad? Something I make the day before and throw in the oven an hour before dinner.

Whatever I end up making next year, I am determined that T-Day 2011 will find me sitting in the living room enjoying a glass of bubbly and some quality time with the people I love.

Happy Thanksgiving and to all those culinary athletes competing tomorrow: may the force be with you.