Chacos: The Last Supper

Some families show their love with hugs or celebrating lifetime achievements with one another. My family does so by telling you how to eat a bagel or a slice of pizza. We’re devoutly vocal about food and demonstrate our affection for one another by arguing what should be on the menu for dinner while we’re still debating bacon’s ideal thickness over breakfast. Some would say our family obsesses over food and talks about it with anyone who will listen — however, what identifies us as a family is our desire to share how meals are prepared and served, how food tastes, and how or where food should be eaten. Food is our foundation, and it gets stronger every generation. 

Not all foodies in our family have similar palates, and we don’t all engage in food the same way. Some members of our family eat only hotdogs — a culinary crime — and once triggered an emotional minefield during a holiday meal we’re still trying to diffuse 40 years later. My grandmother preferred to cook at home. She made Jewish holidays synonymous with overcooked brisket served on fine china and a side of tense conversation. My brother is a pizza purist. He has proudly critiqued every East Coast restaurant and has firm convictions on which ones are overrated and the ones that know what they’re doing. One of my children delights in always ordering the most expensive dish while dining out, and a couple of outliers boldly choose to dine at Michelin-star restaurants. They like to experiment with exotic fare and don’t shy away from new ways to ignite family commentary about how one chooses to spend their own money. 

While I identify deeply with this food-obsessed lineage, my relationship with eating is a little bit different. I analyze the restaurant’s accoutrements and often care more about the setting than the meal itself. I like to scan and then ask for “just the right table,” which makes me a stereotypical, entitled-mom according to my kids. Then I quietly size up the music, the lighting, the flow. I try to be discreet as I feel for the heft of the water glass and fix the wobbly table. I force myself to stop casing the joint before I even have a chance to look at the menu or eat the food because my actions border on obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and I’m told they’re annoying to those around me. Sometimes I can’t help it though. For me, food is fueled by ambiance and packed with emotion.

My real connection with food is to bring people together by providing a well-stocked and clean kitchen ready for the more devoted foodies in our family to showcase their skills. I cook to feed the people I care about. Foodies cook to discover, create, and dine, which is why I love creating a space where others can share their culinary gifts. They possess a combination of passion and commitment to the craft that I admire (and do not possess!). My dad could tell you a cut of beef blindfolded and will give you a lecture if you give him flank when he asked for top sirloin. My husband will experiment with food and flavors by using spices like saffron or sumac and prepare a mid-week meal that will make your mouth water. My cousin, who lives nearby, will walk into my house with bags of groceries to steam, sauté, simmer, and sweat. Even my youngest will spend hours in the kitchen attempting Beef Wellington, making carbonara, or perfecting the buttery, flaky croissant — just for fun.

Food is more than sustenance in our family. It’s a tool of communication and binds us from across the country and between generations. When a relative came to visit recently, 12 of us sat at my dining table loudly ranking, debating, and then arguing the quality and crispness over the French fries served at fast-food restaurants between our bites of filet mignon and sautéed vegetables. We finished our meal with a celebratory Carvel ice cream cake, even though it was no one’s birthday, and talked about the quality of the crunchie-middle for far too long (according to a cousin’s boyfriend). We’re a diverse group with lots of needs to be met at every meal.

Whether it’s an open-faced, lightly-toasted bagel sandwich piled high with cream cheese and lox or a slice of pizza eaten with a crispy crust and extra pepperoni, we like sharing food together. We also like to critique it passionately, eat heartily, and then tell you the best way to get the most out of your meal. And if you don’t agree, you probably won’t be invited to our next supper.