80+ Thanksgiving Riddles for the Whole Table

I gobble, I strut, and on the fourth Thursday of November I am the star of the plate. What am I? A turkey.

I have feathers, I have a wattle, and I nervously count the days to late November. What am I? A turkey.

Guess the bird: I say gobble instead of hello, and a whole holiday is named around eating me. What am I? A turkey.

I am round, I am roasted, and I come with a little pop-up timer in my chest. What am I? A Thanksgiving turkey.

I am the part of the bird two people pull apart for luck, and whoever gets the bigger piece wins. What am I? A wishbone.

I am stuffed inside the bird, I soak up all the flavor, and I am somehow nobody's favorite and everybody's favorite. What am I? Stuffing.

I am what is left of the turkey on Friday, I live in a container, and I become a sandwich by lunch. What am I? Leftovers.

Guess what the turkey wore to dinner: it was the only outfit he owned and it came with the bird. What was it? His feathers.

I am the sound a turkey makes, and I am also what you do to your food when it tastes amazing. What am I? A gobble.

I am a bird who gets a presidential pardon once a year and walks away a free turkey. What am I? The pardoned turkey.

I am golden, I am carved at the table, and the person holding the knife gets all the questions. What am I? The roast turkey.

Guess the leg: there are only two of me on the bird, so at a big table I start a quiet war. What am I? A turkey drumstick.

I hide in the oven for hours, I need basting, and I make the whole house smell like the holiday. What am I? The turkey.

I am what you call a turkey who is scared of Thanksgiving, which, honestly, is a pretty reasonable fear. What am I? A chicken.

I come after turkey and ham on the list of holiday birds, and I am the one some families roast instead. What am I? A Thanksgiving duck.

I am orange, I am spiced, and I show up at the end of dinner when everyone swears they are full. What am I? Pumpkin pie.

Guess the sauce: I am red, I wobble, and I keep the exact shape of the can I came from. What am I? Cranberry sauce.

I am fluffy, I am buttery, and I am the one dish that disappears first and gets fought over last. What am I? Mashed potatoes.

I pour over turkey and potatoes, I am brown and warm, and the holiday falls apart without me. What am I? Gravy.

I am sweet, I am topped with marshmallows, and I am basically dessert pretending to be a vegetable. What am I? Sweet potato casserole.

Guess the bread: I am soft, I am round, and I am the thing you reach for to soak up the last of the gravy. What am I? A dinner roll.

I am a pie too, but I am nutty and gooey, and I quietly compete with pumpkin for the last slice. What am I? Pecan pie.

I am green, I am baked with crispy onions on top, and I only ever appear in November. What am I? Green bean casserole.

I am a spice blend in your pie, and my name tells you exactly which holiday vegetable I belong to. What am I? Pumpkin spice.

Guess the topping: I am white, I am fluffy, and I sit on the pie like a little cloud. What am I? Whipped cream.

I am golden and flaky, I hold everything else together, and nobody notices me until I am missing. What am I? The pie crust.

I am corn baked into a sweet, soft square, and I argue all day about whether I am a side or a dessert. What am I? Cornbread.

I am what the plate becomes when you refuse to pick just one dish. What am I? A little bit of everything.

I am served warm with a scoop of ice cream on top, and I make the kitchen smell like cinnamon. What am I? Apple pie.

Guess the drink: I am warm, I am spiced, and I am the cup everyone holds while dinner finishes cooking. What am I? Apple cider.

I am big, I am orange, and I can be a pie, a lantern, or a very heavy doorstep decoration. What am I? A pumpkin.

I fall from trees in red and gold, I crunch under your boots, and I am the whole reason people rake. What am I? Autumn leaves.

Guess the vegetable: I come in many shapes, I have a hard shell, and gourd is practically my last name. What am I? A squash.

I am piled on a table with gourds and corn, I spill out of a horn shape, and I mean the harvest came in. What am I? A cornucopia.

I grow on a stalk, I come wrapped in a husk, and in the fall I show up dried and decorative. What am I? Indian corn.

I am red and crisp, I grow in orchards, and families spend a whole fall afternoon picking me. What am I? An apple.

Guess the field: I am full of dried stalks, a maze is carved through me, and kids get happily lost inside. What am I? A corn maze.

I am stuffed with straw, I wear a hat, and I stand in the field looking busy without doing much. What am I? A scarecrow.

I am the season between summer and winter when everything turns orange and crunchy. What am I? Fall.

I am a wagon ride through the farm on a pile of straw, and I am bumpier than anyone expects. What am I? A hayride.

I am the last full moon before the real cold comes, and farmers used my light to bring in the crops. What am I? The harvest moon.

Guess the fruit: I am small, I am tart, I grow in a bog, and I end up as sauce next to the turkey. What am I? A cranberry.

I am the one word everyone says before they eat, and I turn a regular meal into Thanksgiving. What am I? Thanks.

I go around the table one person at a time, and by the end everyone has named something they are glad for. What am I? Saying what you are thankful for.

Guess the feeling: I get bigger when you share me, I cost nothing, and I am the whole point of the holiday. What am I? Gratitude.

I am the short speech someone gives before dinner, usually while the food gets cold. What am I? A toast.

I am what you write in a note to say two small words that mean a lot. What am I? Thank you.

I am full of people you love, a little too loud, and the reason the holiday matters at all. What am I? Family.

I am the list you make in your head of good things, and November is when people finally say me out loud. What am I? A list of blessings.

Guess what fills the room after a good meal with the people you love: it is warm, quiet, and hard to name. What is it? Contentment.

I am what you feel when the whole table is finally together and nobody is looking at a phone. What am I? Togetherness.

I am passed down with the recipes, I show up every year, and I turn a dinner into a tradition. What am I? A family tradition.

I am the seat you set for the guest who had nowhere else to go, and I make the table feel complete. What am I? An open seat.

I am the moment before anyone picks up a fork, when the whole table pauses together. What am I? Grace.

I am the longest table in the house, I only come out once a year, and somehow there is still not enough room. What am I? The Thanksgiving table.

Guess the seating: I am where the younger cousins get sent so the grown-ups can talk. What am I? The kids' table.

I am on the television all afternoon, I involve a ball and a lot of yelling, and half the family naps through me. What am I? Thanksgiving football.

I happen right after the big meal, I hit everyone at once, and it is blamed on the turkey. What am I? The food coma.

I am the second plate you swore you would not get, standing right there at the counter. What am I? Seconds.

Guess the chore nobody wants: I come after dinner, I involve a full sink, and I start a sudden round of hugs goodbye. What am I? The dishes.

I am the parade on television in the morning, full of giant balloons floating down the street. What am I? The Thanksgiving parade.

I am the button at the top of your jeans that quietly gives up halfway through dinner. What am I? The top button.

I am the relative who asks every year when you will settle down, usually with a mouthful of stuffing. What am I? The nosy aunt.

I am the chair you pull up when more people arrive than anyone planned for. What am I? The folding chair.

Guess the nap: I happen on the couch, the game is still on, and I was definitely just resting my eyes. What am I? The after-dinner nap.

I am the long drive the whole family makes to get to one dinner table. What am I? Going over the river and through the woods.

I am the one recipe only Grandma can make right, and the holiday is ruined if I am missing. What am I? Grandma's secret dish.

What do you call a running turkey? Fast food.

Why did the cranberries turn red? Because they saw the turkey dressing.

What kind of music did the Pilgrims like? Plymouth rock.

What do you call a sad cranberry? A blueberry.

Why was the Thanksgiving soup so expensive? It had twenty-four carrots.

What smells the best at Thanksgiving dinner? Your nose.

What did the turkey say to the computer? Google, google.

Why do we put candles on top of the pumpkin pie? Because they taste better than the ones on the bottom.

What always shows up to Thanksgiving dinner but never eats a thing? Your knife and fork.

What side of the turkey has the most feathers? The outside.

Why did the turkey cross the road twice? To prove he was not chicken.

What do you get when you cross a turkey with a banjo? A bird that can pluck itself.

What do you call it when it rains turkeys? Fowl weather.