TV Dinners and Tiny Toasts
Family dinner has always been more of an idea I admired than a daily ritual I mastered. Growing up, we did eat together—just not quite like the storybook versions my mom would recount.
As a kid, we gathered around the kitchen table in our designated spots. I sat by the dishwasher, Michelle claimed the corner by the windows, Dad parked himself by the door, and Mom sat with her back to the TV… the TV that was on. We always ate later in the evening, so we watched our shows—around her. Mom was not amused. She’d try to make conversation, valiantly attempting to ignore the laugh track behind her, but she didn’t have much success.
Still, the value of “eating together” lodged itself firmly in my brain. Mom used to tell stories of her own childhood family dinners—complete with candles every night. That always amazed me. She’d also talk about being forced to eat every single thing on her plate, which led to one infamous episode involving a liver-hating dog, some suspicious gagging, and a mother who wasn’t fooled for a second.
Years later, when I had my own kids, I tried to implement the concept of family dinner. Results varied wildly depending on the school year. Some years we managed it once a week. Other years? Maybe once a month. When we did pull it off, we’d often light candles and serve the kids teeny-tiny cordial glasses of wine. During those meals, we’d toast “to your health” in Russian—mosha bwetz poshu. (We’ve almost certainly butchered the phrase beyond recognition over the years, but it’s now part of our family tradition, so we keep on toasting.)
These days, family dinners are occasional but memorable. At our last one, we actually filled up the entire dining room table. Aubrey requested fondue, so we went all out—baby potatoes, broccoli crowns, shrimp, sirloin chunks, and onions. Her boyfriend Chris joined us for the first time. He smiled through it all and contributed to the conversation like a champ. Later, though, he confessed, “I’ve never worked so hard for so little food in my life.” Fair enough, Chris. Fair enough.
But the real winner in our family meal game has always been Craig’s Sunday morning breakfast. He proudly destroys the kitchen while whipping up pancakes (with real maple syrup), made-to-order omelets, sausage or thick-cut bacon, and mountains of hash browns. It’s a full production. He makes this feast at home and at the cottage in Door County, where he has an even bigger, hungrier fan base to impress.
So no, I’ve never been the queen of nightly candlelit dinners. But when we do gather around food—whether for fondue or hash browns—we laugh, connect, and create memories. And in the end, I think that’s what family dinner is really about.
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