Thanksgiving, or really this time of year in general, has always carried a complex mix of feelings for me. These days, the world feels heavy in ways that are hard to ignore. And personally, it has been a year of growth, loss, my emotions doing the cha-cha, and everything in between. But even in the chaos, this season still stirs up some of my warmest memories. And because I am me, those memories are stitched together with food and music (in that order). Growing up in the Bay Area, Thanksgiving meant one thing: we were driving to Los Angeles. My grandparents lived in the San Fernando Valley, which meant loading up the car and making the legendary I-5 pilgrimage, the fastest and most monotonous stretch of freeway imaginable, and also one of the most aggressively cow-scented (IYKYK!). On a normal day it was a five-and-a-half-hour drive. But the Wednesday before Thanksgiving it could easily stretch to eight or nine hours, bumper-to-bumper, two lanes, hundreds of miles, and two kids in the backseat repeatedly asking, “Are we there yet?” which I am sure brought my parents endless joy. When I wasn’t complaining, I was either singing along way too loudly to Salt-N-Pepa and En Vogue’s “Whatta Man” on my Walkman, or to Selena’s “Dreaming of You” on my Discman, or leading my entire family in a full Les Mis singalong of “Do You Hear the People Sing.” My dad and I sang with the most gusto. My sister was usually deep in her own world, and my mom would inevitably ask when the next rest stop was, which happened immediately after we had passed one. Lunch was whatever fast food we could grab before climbing “The Grapevine,” the final stretch before reaching LA. Once we made it over that mountain, I knew we were close to paradise. Arriving at my grandparents’ house felt like stepping into a hug. Their modest 1950s home, lined with palm trees, always smelled like a mix of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, warm tortillas, and whatever my Abuelita had simmering on the stove. In the kitchen, her little clock radio was always on, permanently tuned to the same regional Mexican AM station. Without fail, I would hear Vicente Fernández singing “Volver, Volver” as she cooked. Somehow that single song became the soundtrack to every holiday. I would get one of her signature giant abrazos while their dog Lobo pressed his wet nose into my hand. And yes, more often than not it was 80 degrees on Thanksgiving. Nothing says “holiday season” like sweating through my coveted NKOTB tee shirt. The feast itself was legendary. My grandma and mom would wake up at four in the morning, make coffee, and wrestle a 30-pound turkey into the oven. Breakfast was usually a bean burrito (or two) and orange juice, which in hindsight was hilarious given the day of eating ahead. The menu hit every traditional note: mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, crescent rolls, but always included homemade refried beans and Mexican rice. It was a preview of the tamale season to come, the culinary equivalent of the opening credits before the real show. Around the table, the conversation flowed in Spanglish, bouncing between jokes (rated PG to R), stories, gossip, and occasional family drama (because what is Thanksgiving without at least a little). Even when things got messy, I loved being there. The sound of my grandpa’s laugh, my grandma fussing over everyone’s plates and insisting that even seconds were not enough for my sister and me, the comfort of ritual you do not fully understand until you are older. When my grandpa passed in 2015 and my grandma in 2021, Thanksgiving changed. We began splitting the holiday between my sister’s home and my fella’s family, gathering with new combinations of relatives and forming fresh traditions while holding tight to the ones we grew up with. It’s bittersweet in that way only family can be — a quiet reminder of how time moves, how we adapt. And every year, no matter whose table we’re around, music is always there in the background, the thread that ties every memory together. So, in the spirit of nostalgia, warmth, and good company — and as your friendly neighborhood Pandora Jazz Programmer — here are a few stations and playlists to keep you company through any meal, gathering, quiet evening, or full-blown kitchen meltdown. Whether you’re basting a turkey, stirring a pot of pozole, plating a pie, reheating last night’s takeout, or hiding in the pantry for a minute of peace before people arrive, consider these your seasonal soundtrack: Swingin’ Thanksgiving A lively mix of classic swing and jazz standards to bring a little energy and charm to the holiday table. Dinner Jazz A smooth blend of timeless jazz meant to match any meal — subtle enough to sit in the background, rich enough to spark conversation. Ella Dinner Jazz Ella Fitzgerald setting the tone with elegance and warmth. Ideal for guests arriving, plates being passed, and that last glass being poured. Jazzy Brunch A light and upbeat mix perfect for Thanksgiving morning prep or casual Friendsgiving gatherings. Classic Soul A nostalgic blend of favorites from Motown, Stax, and Philly that brings easy warmth and familiar rhythm to any gathering. Classical Dinner Party Graceful classical works offering a calm, refined backdrop for dinner, desserts, or post-meal lingering. Whether your traditions involve turkey, tamales, tea, or takeout, I’d love to hear if there’s a song or memory that’s tied to a meaningful meal or gathering in your life. Every family has one, even if it only lives in the kitchen radio. Please feel free to share yours in the comments and have a happy Thanksgiving.
... View more
