Thunder Bay Residents Emerge from Turkey Comas
THUNDER BAY, ON — As the scent of leftover turkey lingers in homes across Thunder Bay, and the last remnants of pumpkin pie slowly harden on dessert plates, as local residents are beginning to emerge from the post-Thanksgiving haze that settled over the city for the last 48 hours. The annual festival of food, familial obligation, and forced gratitude has once again left its mark on the people of Northwestern Ontario.
“I haven’t moved from this couch since yesterday,” mumbled Gary McKinnon, whose expression suggested he was only halfway awake, and possibly still digesting the absurd quantity of stuffing he consumed. “I’m not sure if that was the best meal I’ve ever had, or the worst decision I’ve made this year. Probably both.”
McKinnon, like many locals, celebrated Thanksgiving in the traditional Thunder Bay style: a marathon of food so excessive that it felt less like a meal and more like a challenge from a culinary gladiator. His home, strewn with empty casserole dishes, crumpled napkins, and more pie crusts than one would care to count, stood as a monument to yet another successful—or, at least, completed—Thanksgiving feast.
For the residents of Thunder Bay, Thanksgiving is no mere holiday. It’s a sacred occasion when locals gather with their families to exchange niceties, passive-aggressively critique each other’s life choices, and eat until they are rendered physically incapable of further conversation.
“I love Thanksgiving,” said Janice O’Connor, who was still recovering from hosting 18 family members in her small townhouse, which, for two days straight, felt more like a culinary battlefield than a home. “It’s such a special time to be with family. We all come together in the same room, argue over politics, and pretend we care about each other’s opinions on pumpkin spice lattes.”
O’Connor’s family, like many others in Thunder Bay, performed the sacred rite of passing the gravy around the table three times before realizing no one knew who had it last, an age-old tradition that evokes a sense of unity, or at least shared confusion.
“I think it really brings us closer,” O’Connor added, though it was unclear whether she meant physically—given the tight seating arrangements—or emotionally.
For most Thunder Bay households, the day was spent indulging in a cornucopia of food that would have been alarming to anyone with a reasonable sense of portion control. Grocery stores across the city reported that stocks of gravy mix, canned cranberry sauce, and frozen turkeys had been wiped out earlier in the week, leaving desperate last-minute shoppers grappling with whatever they could find. One local shopper was spotted asking a store clerk if turkey bacon could substitute for the real thing. Spoiler: it couldn’t.
The holiday wasn’t without its share of dramatic moments. Marie Lavoie, whose family gathers every year for a tense, five-minute discussion about gratitude, reportedly burst into tears when she was asked to say what she was thankful for and realized she had run out of non-food-related things to mention. “I guess I’m grateful for stretchy pants?” she mused, as her family members nodded solemnly in agreement.
Yet, despite the overcooked turkey, lukewarm stuffing, and heated discussions over the proper way to carve a bird, Thunder Bay residents remain steadfast in their love for the holiday. By the time the leftovers had been packed into Tupperware and the dishes finally washed, many were already planning next year’s event, with whispered promises of “never doing this again” that no one believed.
“Thanksgiving just means something different here,” said McKinnon, staring into the distance, likely reliving his encounter with a pie he had sworn to eat only a sliver of. “It’s not about the food, really. It’s about the people. And, okay, the food. Mostly the food.”
As the sun set over Thunder Bay on yet another Thanksgiving, locals were left to reflect on what really mattered—family, togetherness, and the knowledge that tomorrow’s breakfast would almost certainly involve leftover turkey sandwiches.
“Honestly, I’d do it all again next year,” said O’Connor, before quietly muttering, “But someone else can host.”