We do it every year. We cut out recipes. We make lists. We go to the commissary. We elbow each other out of the way to grab turkeys, cranberries, yams and mini-marshmallows. We jam enough food into our pantries to feed an Army ... or Navy, as it were.

Why? Because it’s Thanksgiving, of course!

When our invited guests politely ask, “What can we bring?” we are faced with an interesting dilemma. On one hand, our brains are about to explode over the exhausting details of hosting, so contributions would be nice. But on the other hand, we have envisioned holiday meals using only our own families’ traditional recipes, and what if our guests bring dishes that are strange and unfamiliar?

Thirty years ago, when my Navy husband and I lived in base housing at Fort Ord, Calif., we couldn’t afford to fly back East to spend the holiday with our extended families. So, we accepted an invitation to have Thanksgiving dinner at another military family’s house on post.

“What can I bring?” I asked the other wife. “Uh, well, um ... ,” she stuttered uncomfortably, “I’ll get back to you on that.” I fancied myself a pretty darned good cook back in those days (before kids turned my brain to mush and our staple food into boxed macaroni and cheese) and was looking forward to contributing my culinary talents to the meal.

“You’ve got to let me bring something,” I pleaded.

“Well, all right then,” she answered, somewhat irritated, “just bring a dish of corn — frozen corn.”

“Frozen corn?” I thought. “Are you kidding me?” She wasn’t.

Over the next few days, I hounded the other spouse, offering my delectable sausage apple pecan cornbread dressing, my rich Guinness gravy, my addictive Swiss onion bread, my snappy Waldorf salad. She resisted, but finally agreed to let me bring a plain pumpkin pie, reminding me to not forget the “tub of Cool Whip.”

I swallowed my disappointment that Thanksgiving -- along with her boring stuffing – and resolved to make what I wanted from then on.

However, year after year, the same dilemma kept cropping up. Whether host or guest, I didn’t like giving up my holiday traditions. But when we were too far away from family, I wanted to reach out to other military families rather than spending holidays alone.

Eventually I realized that, unless I wanted to spend Thanksgiving stubbornly alone with my coveted recipes, I’d better learn to compromise. I lectured myself, “Now, if someone invites us over to their house for Thanksgiving, for goodness’ sake, don’t turn your nose up if the hostess serves homemade cranberry sauce just because you love the canned stuff.”

“Don’t judge if the host doesn’t brine his bird!” I admonished, and reminded myself to never make passive-aggressive comments like, “Could you pass the canned gravy? A little breast meat is stuck in my throat.” I promised I wouldn’t be bitter if the hostess declines my offer to show off my pecan cheesecake with gingersnap crust. Instead, I vowed to shut my pumpkin pie hole and gratefully eat whatever she serves.

When I offered to host other military friends on holidays, I trained myself to happily make way for a guests’ beloved Tex Mex corn soufflé … even if it does clash with my ambrosia. “You can give up your swiss onion bread just this once,” I told myself one Thanksgiving, “and let her bring her Gammie’s poppy seed loaf if it makes her feel at home.” “C’mon,” I argued with myself, “no one really cares how you think sweet potatoes should be cooked anyway. Surely no one has ever died from eating mini-marshmallows!”

In the end, I not only survived each holiday meal for which I compromised my traditions … I gained 10 pounds in the process.

Besides, Thanksgiving is the time of year that we’re supposed to contemplate all the things we’re thankful for, like our family and friends. Not the green bean casserole with the French-fried onions, for Pete’s sake.

Friends and family truly are the meat and potatoes of life. The food? Let’s face it — No matter whether it’s canned, powdered, microwaved or slow cooked from the drippings, it’s just the gravy.

Lisa Molinari’s “Better Than Yours” Gravy

1. Simmer giblets and turkey neck in a covered two-quart pot of water with quartered onion, chunks of carrot and celery, salt and pepper, while you cook your turkey.

2. Strain. You should have 3 cups of stock; add chicken broth if necessary.

3. Shake one cup of the stock with 3 Tbsp. flour in a jar with a lid.

4. When the turkey is done, remove to a platter and pour the drippings into a fat separator.

5. Deglaze the roasting pan by putting it over low heat on the stovetop, adding 1.5 cups water (can also use wine, broth or Guinness).

6. Stir to dissolve the intensely flavorful brown bits left on the bottom.

7. Pour the flour-stock mixture into the pan and stir while simmering 3 minutes.

8. Add the rest of the stock, and the pan drippings (not the fat), and cook over medium high heat for 15 minutes stirring constantly, until thickened.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com