A Thesmophoria Thanksgiving: Gratitude the Greek Way

Residing in Greece as an American expat has inspired me to honor and engage with the layers of tradition that reflect both my American origins and the richly woven culture surrounding me. Here, gratitude transcends the boundaries of a singular day marked by the usual trappings of overcooked turkey and a parade of football games. Gratitude is woven into our everyday lives. The gentle clinking of coffee cups at the local café feels like a little reminder to appreciate what we have, and saying “efharisto” (thank you) helps us connect with one another in a meaningful way. In this land, where every moment is an invitation to savor and celebrate, gratitude emerges not as an event but as a way of being.

As an American expat living in a quiet rural village, celebrating Thanksgiving seems unnecessary in a country where appreciation is a daily custom. But this year, I decided to celebrate it anyway, weaving it with a touch of Thesmophoria, the ancient Greek festival of the harvest. Thesmophoria, I learned, dates back to the 5th century BCE and is dedicated to Demeter, the goddess of grain, and her daughter Persephone, who was abducted by Hades and taken to the underworld. What better way to express gratitude than to bring these traditions together around a table filled with flavors, both old and new?

Our gathering was a multinational mix of friends—some fellow Americans missing a taste of home and other expat friends curious about this American holiday. Instead of the typical roasted turkey, I decided to try a Greek-style turkey. I spoke to friends who recommended a marinade of olive oil infused with fragrant rosemary, sweet honey, tangy mustard, and a splash of freshly squeezed orange and lemon juice. For the stuffing, I mixed bread crumbs, sausage, herbs, crunchy pine nuts, and plump raisins, adding a touch of sweetness and texture. As the turkey roasted, the warm, aromatic scents wafted through the house, reminding me of the familiar Midwestern Thanksgivings from my childhood, now imbued with the vibrant essence of Mediterranean sunshine.

The meal’s highlight, without a doubt, was the kolokithopita—a delightful Greek pie filled with a savory blend of tender pumpkin and creamy feta cheese. I learned the recipe from my friend Dimitri, who runs a local taverna. The harmony of the pumpkin’s natural sweetness and the tangy feta felt like fall in every bite. It was a far cry from the sugary pumpkin pies of my childhood, yet it was deeply comforting.

Leena and friends celebrate a unique Thanksgiving in Greece, blending traditions and flavors in a joyful gathering.|©Leena Horner

We set the table outside under a pergola draped with autumn grapevines. Friends brought their contributions: bowls of Greek salad, baskets of warm bread, roasted eggplant drizzled with tahini, mashed sweet potatoes, and bottles of locally made wine.

When it came time to eat, I briefly explained Thanksgiving, noting its origin as a harvest feast shared between Native Americans and Pilgrims before veering, as I often do, into its modern incarnation as a day devoted to overeating and awkward family conversations. My Greek friends countered with tales of Thesmophoria: how ancient women would descend to the thesmophorion, a sacred space, to mourn Persephone’s descent to the underworld and celebrate her return.

“It’s all about balance,” said Dimitri, my philosophical friend. “Death and life, loss and renewal… loukoumades and ouzo,” he added with a smile.

As the evening went on, we lit candles and passed around plates of loukoumades—honey-drenched doughnuts—along with ouzo to toast health and happiness. For a moment, I paused and took in the scene around me. My friends, familiar faces from my village whom I had come to cherish, were all gathered around the table, their laughter and chatter creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. The soft glow of the candles flickered as we shared stories and memories. An overwhelming sense of belonging washed over me, filling my heart with gratitude.

Of course, no gathering is complete without a few mishaps. The turkey was slightly overdone, and someone spilled a glass of red wine. But as the Greeks say, sto dialo!—to the devil with it! Perfection, after all, is overrated.

As the night deepened, I found myself thinking of Demeter and Persephone. Their myth speaks to cycles of loss and renewal, of letting go and finding again—truths as relevant in modern Greece as they were in ancient times. And isn’t that what Thanksgiving is, too? A moment to pause, acknowledge the harvests in our lives, both literal and metaphorical, and say, “Thank you.”

Perhaps that’s what Thesmophoria and Thanksgiving truly share—a reminder that gratitude is universal, as timeless as Demeter’s grains, and as warm as a freshly baked pie.