When my American wife, Cece, decided to host her first Friendsgiving in Australia, she cheerfully designed an Evite with basic details and a list of potluck dishes. I looked at it blankly. “You can’t send this,” I told her.
She was confused. What was wrong with it?
Everything, I explained. Our friends would have no idea what “Friendsgiving” even meant. And the dishes? Pumpkin pie would sound bizarre. Marshmallows on a side dish? They’d assume it was a children’s birthday party.
What started as a simple invitation required a complete rewrite with sections explaining what Friendsgiving was, why the menu was so specific, and what each dish contained. As RSVPs came in, friends had questions. Why so much pumpkin? What even is green bean casserole?
One friend asked if she could bring something not on the list. Cece paused, considered it, and said no. She’s been in Australia for 10 years, but this tradition is her way of honoring her roots while making a home here. The menu stays.
“I’m not even sure why I make it anymore other than for the shock value. I think it’s a great American soft power play.”
She was genuinely baffled that I needed to explain these dishes at all. They’re American staples.
Except outside the U.S., they’re complete mysteries.
Sweet Potato Pie Casserole With Marshmallow
The marshmallow-topped sweet potato casserole causes the most confusion. I’ve watched our friends stare at it, trying to reconcile marshmallows as anything other than a campfire treat. The idea that they belong on vegetables, served alongside turkey and gravy, simply does not compute.
Sophia Chiang, an American who’s been hosting Thanksgiving in the U.K. for a decade, sees this annually. “I don’t think it’s something any foreigners like, and they’re always shocked that it’s not a dessert and why it exists,” she said. “I’m not even sure why I make it anymore other than for the shock value. I think it’s a great American soft power play. To what end, though, I don’t know.”
When Olivia Aréchiga hosted Thanksgiving in Bordeaux, France, one guest’s response was direct: “But why? Why would anyone make this?”
In Malaysia, Azmi Anees watched local colleagues encounter the dish with different confusion. They assumed it was dessert and saved room accordingly. When they learned it was meant to accompany the turkey, Azmi recalled that “people went into laughter.” A few tried it again with the correct context, and some even went back for seconds.
At our Friendsgiving, the reaction was more diplomatic. One guest tried it and said enthusiastically, “Maybe every side should be a dessert.” The sweet and savory role reversal was confusing, but once they understood the concept, most people were willing to experiment.
Beyond marshmallows, Olivia’s friend looked at the full spread and declared she “fundamentally could not understand why anyone would want to eat so many mushy casseroles.”
She had a point. The American casserole, with its canned soup base and fried onion topping, is the kind of dish that makes you wonder who invented this and why everyone else went along with it.
Pumpkin Pie
Pumpkin presents a different challenge.
Derek Hartman, an American living in Denmark since 2017, has identified the core confusion: “They cannot connect their image of carved Halloween pumpkins, the feeling, the smell, the seeds, the stringy insides, to pumpkin pie.”
The rise of pumpkin spice lattes has only added a third incompatible reference. Derek’s Danish friends now can’t reconcile the jack-o-lantern, the latte and the pie as the same ingredient.
For those of us recreating Thanksgiving abroad, sourcing canned pumpkin becomes an obsession. Cece made pumpkin pie from an actual pumpkin exactly once. It took hours of roasting, pureeing and straining. She vowed never again. In Melbourne, there’s one American import store that sells canned pumpkin at prices that make Bitcoin look stable.
Now we smuggle cans back from the United States. Half our suitcase is pumpkin. I can only imagine what TSA thinks when they scan our bags and see a dozen identical cylinders. Brittany Posey, who has hosted multiple Thanksgivings in Germany, had the same problem. She started bringing back six large cans at a time. An informal trading network emerged among American expats in Germany. “It felt like a trade, like a social currency,” she recalled.
The pumpkin skepticism soon vanishes. At our Friendsgiving, most guests loved the pie once they tried it. I brought leftovers to our local cafe. The baristas were surprised to learn what pumpkin pie actually was. They loved it so much, they’ve asked us to make an extra one to bring in this year. Cece was delighted. Validation from professional coffee people counts.
Turkey
Then there’s turkey, the supposed centerpiece.
Brittany’s first German Thanksgiving began with the butcher delivering a turkey still partially covered in feathers. She spent considerable time with cosmetic tweezers plucking it. “The general feeling was I’m way out of my element here,” she said.
Even properly prepared turkeys face skepticism. Derek’s Danish guests consistently deliver the same assessment: “So all of this other food is just to cover up that turkey isn’t actually that special?”
Last year, our friend George, a professional chef, brought duck instead of turkey. People loved it. I knew Cece preferred it too, though she couldn’t quite admit it. This year? No duck. Turkey only. The tradition must be preserved, even when everyone knows the sides are much better.
It All Makes Sense In The End (Mostly)
Despite the confusion, people adapt. The overall experience is what people embrace: bringing dishes, eating together, another excuse to gather with friends.
One of our friends volunteered to make green bean casserole, then immediately asked what it was and requested a recipe. The fact that she was willing to make a dish she’d never heard of shows the spirit Thanksgiving generates. It turned out well, and she’s making it again this year. Brittany found that while her German guests had to “get over how it looked” first, they eventually loved it, too.
Some non-American additions become instant traditions. One of Olivia’s guests brought a pear and blue cheese salad that became so popular it’s now permanent. She eventually came around on green bean casserole, too, though the marshmallow situation remained unacceptable.
Pumpkin pie finds converts everywhere. Olivia has watched it gain fans in France year after year. “I think they appreciate the deceptive simplicity of the pie,” she noted.
Sophia’s British friends have shifted from dreading the meal to looking forward to it. “Now that people are adults and have to cook for themselves, they start realizing how lovely having a feast done for them is.”
Our Aussie mates were astounded at the amount and variety of food, but they embraced it. In the end, it’s not really about whether marshmallows belong on sweet potatoes (they don’t, power play or not). It’s about giving thanks and being together.
I love that Cece brings this tradition to Australia. The strict menu, the lengthy explainer, the smuggled canned goods: All of it matters because it creates community while honoring where she’s from. The tradition matters more than whether the food makes sense to anyone else.
Our friends showed up. They’ll show up again this year, though I may need to charge admission to cover the canned pumpkin costs.