The Probably True Story of Thanksgiving

Despite other stories you may have heard about the origins of this holiday, I think this may be what actually happened.

The Pilgrims had a plan. A simple one, really: sail straight, land somewhere promising, start a new life. Unfortunately, “sail straight” turned out to be a lot harder than anyone expected, especially when half the crew was seasick or drunk off rum, and the other half argued about whether the map was upside down or not.

Days passed, then weeks, then far too many months, and the Pilgrims eventually accepted the truth: they were hopelessly lost at sea. Morale was low. Tempers were high. And the food supply had dwindled to a single stale biscuit that everyone pretended not to see.

Just when the Pilgrims were convinced they’d spend the rest of their lives floating aimlessly across the ocean, something miraculous happened. A warm delicious smell drifted across the open water. At first, no one believed it. They thought it was a sensory hallucination caused by hunger, exhaustion, or perhaps the lingering trauma of that one guy’s dried-fish stew that was cooked a few days earlier. But the scent grew stronger, richer, and unmistakably real. They didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from, but it was a heavenly scent.

The Pilgrims stared at one another, wide-eyed. What could it be? A scent so pleasant and grand? Out here, in the middle of nowhere? Impossible. And yet… the aroma wrapped around them like a warm hug from destiny. Someone shouted, “Follow that smell!” and the entire ship lurched forward as the crew scrambled to adjust the sails. Somewhere in the distance, they were certain, was something edible. Could this be the glorious new discovery they were hoping to find on their journey?

For two days, the Pilgrims navigated purely by scent, arguing constantly about what they were smelling. Then, just as the ship threatened to run aground on a sandbar nobody noticed because everyone was leaning off the side sniffing the wind, they saw land. Real land. A beautiful coastline rising from the foggy mist.

The smell was overwhelming now—rich, smoky, irresistible. The moment the ship touched shore, the Pilgrims practically rolled off it, weak from hunger and dizzy with anticipation. Without knowing what they were heading toward, they staggered inland, following the mysterious scent until they reached a clearing… and froze.

Before them sat a giant, magnificent pizza feast.

Dozens of Natives stood around warmly, pulling bubbling pizzas from stone ovens, slicing them with wooden blades, sprinkling herbs across fresh crusts, and waving the newcomers over with the universal gesture for “Come eat before you fall over.” The Pilgrims, who had been living off borderline-edible sea rations for months, were too starved to be confused any longer. They collapsed gratefully onto the ground as pizzas were placed before them—thick crusts, thin crusts, crispy edges, chewy centers, toppings ranging from vegetables to meats they couldn’t identify but immediately loved.

The Natives watched, amused, as the visitors inhaled slice after slice with the enthusiasm of people who had just discovered the meaning of life. One Pilgrim, trembling with joy, declared, “This… this must be paradise.” Another burst into tears after tasting melted cheese. Someone else tried to propose marriage to a pepperoni slice before being gently interrupted.

The Pilgrims, who had never seen or eaten pizza before, were convinced it was the greatest invention in human history. Once the Pilgrims regained the ability to form coherent sentences, the Natives explained that pizza had long been their celebration food, shared during gatherings, ceremonies, and any occasion where deliciousness was required. The Pilgrims expressed their gratitude loudly and repeatedly, sometimes through hugs, sometimes through interpretive dance fueled by their new found high-carb enthusiasm.

And so, in a moment of unity born from hunger, kindness, and the magic of melted cheese, something remarkable happened. The Pilgrims and the Natives shared the first massive pizza feast together. The Pilgrims called it the greatest day of their lives. The Natives called it Thursday.

The Pilgrims returned to the old world with a new found appreciation for life, and amazing recipes to share. But every year after that, the Pilgrims remembered the miracle that saved them: the day they followed the smell of pizza to the New World. And that is why, to this very day, people gather, give thanks, and eat until they can no longer move—honoring the delicious accident that led to the first Thanksgiving.

This is also why you’re supposed to eat pizza on Thanksgiving.

I wish you and your family a happy pizza filled Thanksgiving day!

Gobble Gobble!

~ Marty The Pizza Guy ~ (and historian extraordinaire)

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