If you are new friends of mine, one of my favorite questions to pass around the table is around what people ate for special occasions growing up.
It's an enlightening conversation that never fails to please. There are dark moments here worth sharing as well, but in my experience, people light up. They glow. They think back, telling stories of burnt dinners and holiday treats, traditional dishes and unique fare that only their family seems to appreciate. You learn about their culture, their people, their life, the tone of their days growing up. You also get to hear deep love stories, of Grandma's all-day red sauce or Grandpa slaving over the world's best steaks with the memory lingering years after they've passed.
I'll tell people about my Grandmother's bread, my Aunt's goulash, the excitement of a family friend's well-stocked shelves of junk cereal we were only allowed to eat when vacationing with them. I laugh about my dinner request that remained the same for roughly 20 years, but my mother still patiently asking what I'd like to eat for my birthday. She would also make me breakfast sandwiches long past when I could cook for myself, just because she knows eggs taste better when someone makes them for you. One special year, I got my own separate cake when my birthday fell on Easter. At my grandpa's house the smell of hot biscuits and apple butter was your wake up call during summer vacation, fueling you to dig in the garden and gather potatoes for dinner. My sisters and I tell stores about putting on aprons and serving at Mother's Day brunch- our hoard of girls being loaned out to serve all the non-mothers present, while we quietly elbowed in the kitchen to be the one to stay with Mom.
I joke that I've never seen my father touch the lighter on the stove, or the stove at all except to sneak bites out of whatever is simmering, but he is in my stories all the same... cheerfully loading huge carts of food and drink to share with family and neighbors or picking up the check at the end of a long table at a restaurant. When I was in college he would send me a card to take my roommate out to eat on special occasions or to mark the end of finals, making festivities from thousands of miles away.
I'm still picking up new stories, sampling my first Texas sheet cake and rediscovering fried chicken thanks to my husband's family (Thank you will never be enough for either of these things). My sisters getting married has added to our own food culture, their husbands adding homemade pasta dishes and barbecue skills to our gatherings. My little family is adding feast days throughout the year based on the Church liturgical calendar- I hope one day when my kids sit around, they remember the mass donuts and the "Last Supper" bread loaf and wine sips, as I remember chicken cutlets and creamed corn Sunday dinners.
So really, what did you eat?
It's an enlightening conversation that never fails to please. There are dark moments here worth sharing as well, but in my experience, people light up. They glow. They think back, telling stories of burnt dinners and holiday treats, traditional dishes and unique fare that only their family seems to appreciate. You learn about their culture, their people, their life, the tone of their days growing up. You also get to hear deep love stories, of Grandma's all-day red sauce or Grandpa slaving over the world's best steaks with the memory lingering years after they've passed.
I'll tell people about my Grandmother's bread, my Aunt's goulash, the excitement of a family friend's well-stocked shelves of junk cereal we were only allowed to eat when vacationing with them. I laugh about my dinner request that remained the same for roughly 20 years, but my mother still patiently asking what I'd like to eat for my birthday. She would also make me breakfast sandwiches long past when I could cook for myself, just because she knows eggs taste better when someone makes them for you. One special year, I got my own separate cake when my birthday fell on Easter. At my grandpa's house the smell of hot biscuits and apple butter was your wake up call during summer vacation, fueling you to dig in the garden and gather potatoes for dinner. My sisters and I tell stores about putting on aprons and serving at Mother's Day brunch- our hoard of girls being loaned out to serve all the non-mothers present, while we quietly elbowed in the kitchen to be the one to stay with Mom.
I joke that I've never seen my father touch the lighter on the stove, or the stove at all except to sneak bites out of whatever is simmering, but he is in my stories all the same... cheerfully loading huge carts of food and drink to share with family and neighbors or picking up the check at the end of a long table at a restaurant. When I was in college he would send me a card to take my roommate out to eat on special occasions or to mark the end of finals, making festivities from thousands of miles away.
I'm still picking up new stories, sampling my first Texas sheet cake and rediscovering fried chicken thanks to my husband's family (Thank you will never be enough for either of these things). My sisters getting married has added to our own food culture, their husbands adding homemade pasta dishes and barbecue skills to our gatherings. My little family is adding feast days throughout the year based on the Church liturgical calendar- I hope one day when my kids sit around, they remember the mass donuts and the "Last Supper" bread loaf and wine sips, as I remember chicken cutlets and creamed corn Sunday dinners.
So really, what did you eat?
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