Today's guest post comes from our beloved friend, Danielle Black -- native New Yorker, knish aficionado, and Thanksgivukkah trendsetter.  


By now you've certainly heard Thanksgivukkah is a once in a lifetime event and have drooled over every fried holiday mash-up recipe and that BuzzFeed menu. But what if I told you that some of my warmest childhood memories are Thankgivukkah-tinged? (No, I am not 200 years old, and this post is not about the secret to stop aging.)

Growing up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, my father felt it was imperative to go watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade and see the balloons being inflated the night before (surely, also a ploy to get me and my brother out of the house while my mother cooked). While I loved going to the parade, it also meant pushing through huge crowds to catch a passing glimpse of whatever was on its way down Central Park West. And really, who cares about that marching band from Kalamazoo and their award-winning baton-twirlers? Instead, I always preferred to watch the balloons get inflated the night before -- arrive on the later side and you basically get the Thanksgiving Day Parade with all meat, no filler. Plus, on Thanksgiving eve, we always got knishes.

Now, I don't mean the artisanal little pillows of pastry filled with fancy goodness, I mean those chewy, square pockets stuffed with solid, oniony potato filling that you could get from the hot dog guys once upon a time. Were they baked? Were they fried? Who could tell?! Regardless, they were delicious little odes to the city's Jewish cultural heritage -- and certainly greasy enough to be part of any Hanukkah celebration. So, in our way, it's safe to say my family was doing Hanukkah at Thanksgiving since way back.

I think I've eaten approximately two street knishes in the past 10 years -- I basically stopped eating them once I understood what a calorie was -- but in honor of this year's holy holiday union, you can bet I'll be looking for one of the five food carts that still sell my sentimental street food favorite.* I'll even top it with cranberry sauce. --Danielle

*Incidentally, there seems to have been a fire at the knish factory recently (no, really), so they're in short supply. If you're willing to wait, you can order them direct from the source here -- $3 can of soda not included.