10 – Is It Meat or Cake? A Thanksgiving Survival Story

Thanksgiving prep has officially begun. Which means… I’ve entered my annual kitchen bootcamp, armed with butter, sarcasm, and one mission: to make it through the holiday without accidentally eating a marshmallow-topped sugar bomb or getting guilt-tripped into a bite of pumpkin pie.

Let me explain.

As the only full-blown carnivore in a house of carb enthusiasts, Thanksgiving is not exactly my Super Bowl. It’s more like a really polite hostage situation where the captors wear matching aprons and offer you “just a taste” of everything that could possibly spike your insulin and your anxiety.

But this year? I’ve got a strategy. Operation: Meat or Cake.

You know that show Is It Cake? where they cut into what looks like a handbag and boom, it’s chocolate sponge with fondant straps? Yeah. That’s kind of what Thanksgiving feels like when you’re on the carnivore diet. Everything on the table looks like it might betray you.

That innocent-looking stuffing? Bread ambush.
That gravy? Thickened with flour.
That cranberry sauce? Fruit. Sugar. Lies.

So here’s the plan:
I’m creating a table that looks festive, smells amazing, and lets me stick to food that once had a heartbeat, without looking like I brought my own emergency lamb shank and a bad attitude.Think roasted duck legs. Butter-basted turkey. A tray of bone marrow with fresh herbs that looks just fancy enough for guests to assume it’s gourmet (and not “Laura just being weird again”).

But here’s the real challenge: Dessert. That’s when the cakes start whispering.

I swear those pies lock eyes with me like,
“Remember me? I’m flaky. I’m sweet. I’m the reason you wore leggings last year.”

But I stay strong. Mostly.

Okay, maybe I do one dramatic sniff of the pecan pie. But that’s it. I’m not about to spiral into a sugar high that ends with me in a food coma watching Home Alone 2 with a regret hangover and a bloated face. Because here’s what I’ve learned:

It’s not about proving a point.
It’s about feeling good after the holiday, not just during.
And for me, that means sticking with the food that doesn’t make my joints ache, my brain fog, or my gut send me hate mail.

So I eat my ribeye in peace.
I smile when someone says, “Aren’t you even having a bite of stuffing?”
And I kindly reply, “Only if it once moo’d.”

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone celebrating, whether you’re eating turkey, Tofurky, or just emotionally hiding in the pantry with a fork and no witnesses.