I can't envision Thanksgiving without a pumpkin pie. That tradition will be even more soothing this year.

It's the most American pie, the healthiest pie and the most autumnal pie. What's not to love?

_{By Monica Potts}

Pumpkin has had a tumultuous decade, but that has nothing to do with the modest gourd itself. The fault lies with Starbucks, which debuted its Pumpkin Spice Latte in 2003. The drink didn't even have any actual pumpkin in it until five years ago; it was given the name based on its mixture of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, cloves and (sometimes) nutmeg that many Americans associate with pumpkin pie. 

But the word "pumpkin" itself came to represent fall, and Starbucks started to roll it out earlier and earlier in the year, often while it was still too warm outside to even think about drinking hot coffee. Tied to Americans' ambivalence about consumerism and corporations, and with perhaps a little sexism thrown in (the lattes were largely enjoyed by women), the backlash was swift and complete.  

But the Pumpkin Spice Latte persisted, and its ethos has metastasized. It is still a hugely successful part of the coffee chain's menu, and we now have everything from pumpkin spice-flavored Oreos to pumpkin spice-scented cleaning solutions. Even the haters have had to make their peace with all of it: In this year, of all years, let people enjoy their pumpkin spice.

Lost in all of this (and suffering from the backlash a bit) has been the food item the latte was trying to evoke: the most classic of all fall pies, a stalwart of the Thanksgiving dessert table, the pumpkin pie. While pumpkin lovers have always had to listen to apple pies make a claim on all-Americanness, the pumpkin is native to this continent, cultivated by Native Americans long before Europeans came. (Apples are native to central Asia and were brought here by European colonists.)

Once the Europeans got a taste of pumpkin, though, they took it back with them to the old country and started using it for tarts and pies. Pumpkin pie — in the form of a pumpkin pudding baked in a crust — made it into the first known American cookbook, "American Cookery, by an American Orphan" by Amelia Simmons, published in 1796.

Pumpkin is also the best squash — and the only one I find actually delicious. All the rest are too watery and have a kind of unpleasant aftertaste or filmy mouthfeel at times. Yellow summer squash, to me, has hardly any flavor; it's one of the few foods I dislike, which makes me a bad Southerner. But pumpkin has an earthy heartiness that makes anything it's in — pies, breads, muffins, chilis — creamy. Its subtle but definite flavor can carry all of the spice mix that borrowed its name, and the gourd lends itself to sweetness. 

The contrast between a creamy pumpkin filling and a perfect flaky crust nears pie perfection. Also, pumpkin pie is good for you, packed with beta carotene and other nutrients; tell yourself you're eating your vegetables as dessert, and it will be only half a lie.

There are other delicious pies, of course, but I can't envision Thanksgiving without a pumpkin one. I know, for instance, that many cooks choose sweet potato pie as an alternative, but for me, a sweet potato pie has too much potato flavor and is overwhelmingly textured. Sweet potatoes are too hearty and too sweet at once, which makes them better as a dinner side dish than a dessert, on my plate anyway.

As an avid home cook, I've seen many recipes that try to improve on the basicness of pumpkin pie, like adding a cheesecake layer or a streusel top. But sometimes, a basic occasion calls for more basic flavors. The reason Pumpkin Spice Lattes have prevailed is that the spice combination so perfectly captures the feeling and emotions of fall. 

Pumpkins, after all, are the centerpieces of the year's two best holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving, which are both in the year's best season, autumn. Halloween was my favorite holiday when I was a child, and, as much as I recognize its complicated and problematic history, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday now that I'm an adult. It's an ode to the central, fundamentally human pleasure of being grateful for nourishment, physical and emotional. For me, the only fitting way to celebrate that is with foods that have long histories for you and the family with whom you've decided to share a table, simply and ably prepared. 

What counts as a traditional Thanksgiving meal means a lot of things to a lot of different Americans. For me, it means a turkey properly cooked (it's not dry if you cook it right!), a bowl of crunchy green vegetables, like Brussels sprouts (which have been a favorite since I was a kid), cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, white gravy and yeast rolls that hopefully someone who isn't me has made. Many recent years, we've mourned the culinary contributions that no longer make it to our Thanksgiving table — my uncle's potato salad, my grandma's dressing, my dad's gravy, my Mammaw's banana pudding (which my mom had to sneak in to her dad to eat because he thought it was better than his wife's) — but that is part of the celebration, too. 

After that overly rich, elaborate meal, it's the basicness of a pumpkin pie that I need. There's also something about the color — that lovely, muted burnt orange — that turns Thanksgiving dinner into a meal like no other, as inescapably part of the season as the last leaves to fall, that last burst of color before the winter (when all we will want to eat are carbs). The color is both a mark of time passing and a celebration of simple satisfaction, with no frills or surprises. 

The tradition of a pumpkin pie after a Thanksgiving meal will be even more soothing to me this year, when nothing has been simple or satisfying. Like many of us, I won't be able to celebrate with family or friends, and I will be taking time to remember the people I know whose holidays will be marked by loss. It's a good year to reach back into my history — our history — and find pleasure in something old and steady and sure.

Monica Potts is a writer based in Arkansas. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Atlantic and other publications. She is writing a book about her rural hometown.