My 3 rules of holiday appetizers
You are going to feed everyone dinner. Probably a lot of dinner. So you don’t need to cover a door-sized table with pre-dinner snacks.
I’ve been writing about Thanksgiving food and other holiday meals for something like 17 years now. That means 17 years of coming up with menu ideas, making recipes over and over, and trying a wide range of drinks to match it all, months before the actual holiday. There have been a lot of times where the last thing on earth I wanted to see on the table was another plate piled high with common holiday favorites.
Even if you love those dishes, though, there’s a certain extra sparkle to the moments before any holiday meal. The right pre-dinner snacks, served with a festive drink, can be the best bites of the night.
Below, you’ll find my holiday appetizer rules and advice, along with a little recipe inspiration.
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Rule #1: Get Help
Appetizers are one of the best parts of the holiday meal for overwhelmed hosts to outsource, because the snacks are freestanding and don’t need to work seamlessly with whatever you’ve planned for mains and sides.
You need to let go of something, and this can be it.
Have a reliably on-time guest arrive with an assembled plate of crudités. This can include multicolored carrots and sliced radishes, endive leaves, little cucumbers, trimmed green beans, and halved teeny sweet peppers. (Make sure they know your cutting board is not available at the last minute.) Another guest can add chips or bread.
Do not hesitate to ask someone helpful to pick up a dip or two from your favorite local restaurant or market—not everything has to be made at home! So much of the festive feeling is in the presentation: plop that dip into a ceramic bowl, a few cocktail coupes, or whatever you have. Swirl a little olive oil into that store-bought hummus, maybe add whatever herbs you’ve been pulling from their stems or a pinch of chile flakes or sumac, and you’re looking good. Homemade tapenade is great, but store-bought tapenade is also great.
If someone really wants to cook something, they can be in charge of making any of these. A lot of dips can be prepped a day or two in advance.
Reem Assil’s mutabal with eggplant—or Swiss chard and tahini
Melissa Clark’s Greek Goddess Dip (NYT Cooking, gift link)
Justine Doiron’s Herby Edamame Spread
Nicole Taylor’s Sweet Potato and Onion Dip (NYT Cooking, gift link)
Erin Alderson’s Roasted Cauliflower and Walnut Dip (Eating Well)
Ina Garten’s Butternut Squash Hummus
or, if you must have a creamy dip, dive into Ella Quittner’s extensive onion dip research.
Rule #2: Save Your Appetite
You are going to feed everyone dinner. Probably a lot of dinner. So you don’t need to cover a door-sized table with appetizers that you made. Do give people some kind of snack so they don’t drink alcohol on an empty stomach, but don’t encourage people to eat a whole meal before the meal. (On that alcohol note, do keep something appealing and NA chilled and ready to go; we’re here for a marathon, not a sprint.)
We’re going for highly flavorful bites here:
Have a few guests bring pickles they love (or have been wanting to try): pickled asparagus, dilly beans, cippolini onions in balsamic, pickled tomatoes.
Olives are especially nice warmed in pool of good olive oil with flavorings like orange zest or orange slices, bay leaves, and chiles. You could crisp a sage leaf and add it, too.
We all want to eat creamy artichoke dip all the time. But I might opt for this less-gooey gratin-style baked artichoke dish instead before a big holiday meal.
I love cheese. I love charcuterie. But for special occasion appetizers, it feels luxurious to lean into seafood, and I like the contrast between crispy holiday starters and whatever meaty, cheesy dishes come next.
I often chop up some smoked salmon and stir it together with capers, a little onion or shallot that’s lightly pickled in lemon juice, and some lemon zest. You could (but don’t need to) add a spoonful of crème fraîche for extra richness. Want to fill a few more little bowls? The new Russ & Daughters cookbook is a treasure trove of recipes for the 100-year-old appetizing shop’s classic seafood spreads.
We’ve been buying these lovely Norwegian-style crackers, and they’d be the perfect bed for a little mustardy dill sauce (or a swipe of goat cheese, crème fraîche, or butter, or just a few shingled cucumbers) and plush ribbons of gravlax.
Craving spice? Add crunchy salsa macha to your ceviche.
I learned this one from Anna Stockwell, who will publish an entire book about butter next spring: mix a little vanilla bean paste into softened butter, smear it on a piece of toasted baguette, and top with a good anchovy. It’s an Alex Raij signature that’s pure shock and delight.
My dream setup is a holiday seafood tower, with plenty of freshly shucked oysters. While you could make mignonette (or even a granita made from kimchi liquid; there’s a recipe in Koreaworld), sticking to lemon wedges is absolutely fine. Per Rule #1, invite some guests who have the skills to come over early with their oyster knives. I don’t actually own a tiered server yet. No matter: A shallow bowl, platter, or even a cake or pie pan with ice will do. Speaking of Rule #1, have someone bring a bag of ice. You always need ice.
You can, of course, play with the seafood tower idea even if you’re keeping things simpler: I’d grab already-poached shrimp from my best local fish counter (see Rule #1), maybe splurge on a container of picked crabmeat, spike some cocktail sauce with a ton of horseradish, and open some special tinned fish as needed.
Rule #3: Make a Tradition
Holiday appetizers are definitely an opportunity to veer away from tradition—but also to honor and create new ones.
If someone in your family always makes a bonkers snack mix over the holidays, serve that. Or declare it an annual snack mix competition if you want.
This is the perfect time to share regional specialties—your uncle Tom’s pickled eggs, your grandma’s butter-baked Saltines—especially if you’re eating with folks you didn’t grow up with.
My mother used to make this ’90s-era green bean pâté, whirred in a food processor with almonds and hard-cooked egg whites and sautéed onions. She always said the vegetarian spread reminded her of the chopped liver her German father served.
This last Thanksgiving was the first one without her. I didn’t discuss the menu before I arrived, ready to cook for everyone but one empty chair, frozen stock and pie dough in tow.
When I walked in the door, my father asked, “Remember that weird green bean pâté your mother used to make?” What came out was both a sob and a laugh.
I’d been craving it, too, and had brought along everything it called for, a photo of the recipe card in her curly handwriting saved in my phone. I honestly don’t know what else I’m serving this Thanksgiving, but Mom’s weird green bean pâté feels like the most important thing.

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Your mom’s handwriting looks so like my mom’s did. I can imagine her writing this recipe too. My mom would actually make the real pate which was very delicious and I had no idea it contained chicken livers. Just like my little sister had no idea when they served tongue that it was actually a cow tongue, until she saw it on the kitchen counter.
I miss hand written recipe cards! The efficiency of email will never match the sweet memories of looping instruction and stained paper.