Every Thanksgiving, I stare at my kitchen, a mix of mild guilt and quiet amusement bubbling inside me. This kitchen came with the house— sparkly appliances, spacious counters, and more cabinets than I’ll ever fill. It’s a place brimming with possibility, but let’s be honest: cooking for a small crowd, even my husband, is hardly my idea of fun. I can cook—my dad was a chef, and my mom baked pies and cakes like her life depended on it— but with a guest list that fits at one table, I often wonder, why bother?