The Family That Eats Together

Sunday dinners cook up community

by Don Genova

May marks Mother’s Day, but my mother liked to take more than just that Sunday to rest. That’s when having three spinster sisters-in-law came in handy. They liked nothing better than to feed a crowd Sunday dinner, especially their nieces and nephews; they spoiled us silly.

Aunt Bessie and Auntie Anne lived together, along with my Uncle Girolamo. My Aunt Polly lived a short walk away. Any Sunday you wanted, a quick call by lunch ensured enough places at the dinner table. Mom would load up the trunk of the car with anything extra she had from our garden. Dad would bring along some bran from a mill he made deliveries to, so that Aunt Polly could make his favourite muffins. My brother, sister, and I would battle for anything other than the middle of the back seat, and off we would go.

Sometimes, we’d arrive to find as many as 20 assorted relatives. It didn’t matter; there always was enough food. It wasn’t fancy. Spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce, homemade bread, homemade meatballs, and, sometimes, homemade sausage, with heaping bowlfuls of green salad that Aunt Polly would mix with her hands, after she’d laced it with apple-cider vinegar and oil. She was in the restaurant business and knew hands were sometimes the best tools.

Desserts consisted of homemade fruit pies, cakes, and cookies. Occasionally, we had real Sicilian treats: cassadetti, pastry half-moons stuffed with sweetened ricotta, fried in oil, and dusted in sugar; or sfinci, deep-fried balls of dough soaked in honey. My dad’s favourite was cucidati, tubes of dried-fig stuffing surrounded by short-crust pastries, bent into s-shapes and then fluted with careful cuts. “Homemade” was the operative word. My aunts would no more use a shortcut to make dinner than they would head down to McDonald’s for lunch.

There would be tea and coffee with dessert and, sometimes, playing cards or gathering around the TV to watch The Wonderful World of Disney and read the trashy tabloids my aunts loved. Then we’d pile back into the car and set off for home with leftovers and—although I didn’t know it or appreciate it at the time—a real sense of extended family.

Those family Sunday dinners don’t happen anymore. My father passed away five years ago, and all five of his siblings predeceased him. Sons and daughters and grandchildren are spread across the country. But those dinners have shown up in the fabric of my being. I love throwing huge, casual gatherings with plenty of food and chat. And while I don’t have any children, I’ve read about the studies that show children who eat together regularly with their families have healthier eating habits and are less likely to be overweight or obese. That’s good on the health side, but family meals can also strengthen communication and relationships between children and parents. And friends.

I find it hard to be alone for Sunday dinners—especially this year, as I have left my wife in Canada while I attend university in Italy. Only four of my classmates live in this small town; the rest are a half-hour bus ride away. A couple of weeks after I arrived, I made a proposal to my roommate: Why don’t we have Sunday dinner at our place each week? On our first evening, we made homemade pumpkin-stuffed ravioli, a specialty of our newly adopted region. The other students brought wine and salad fixings. We were all quite pleased with ourselves, and it definitely helped bond these brand-new friendships. After the first couple of weeks, I didn’t have to be the planner; others began to say, “So what are we going to cook this Sunday? I was thinking…”

We are Canadian, American, Chinese, Taiwanese, and Spanish. I’ve learned more about my classmates through our Sunday dinners than I have in hours spent together every week in class, and we’ve taught each other about new dishes, new languages, and new customs. They’re my new family.

I highly recommend the Sunday family dinner, whether it’s for two, 10, or 20. It doesn’t matter how much it costs…the benefits are priceless.

Don Genova is a B.C. food journalist who is living in Italy for the next few months. You can keep up with his adventures at dongenova.com.