One thing that has always felt important to me, and that I’ve communicated to Ben since the moment we decided to move in together, is that, no matter what, if we’re at home, we’re sitting down for dinner together. Regardless of what we’re eating—be it a homemade lasagna or Chinese takeout. If the two of us are at home, we’re pulling out plates and sitting around the table. No TV, but we’ll put a record on or Ben will pull up one of his many playlists on Spotify. And we’ll eat, and have a glass of wine, and we’ll talk about our day.
The reason this ritual is so important to me is because it was important to my family growing up. My mother had a similar rule for us, one that we follow even to this day. If we were home, even if we’d eaten at a friend’s house and weren’t having a plate, we still had to sit around the table with the TV off and talk to each other. We each had our assigned seats—my father at the head, my mother to his right, me next to my mother, and then my brothers to my father’s left in ascending age order. And even though my siblings and I have partners that we bring home for dinner, we still gravitate to a similar formation whenever we’re around my mother’s table.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and a lot about the aspects of my childhood I want to impart on my future children as I continue to think through the prospect of motherhood. It’s a complicated thing to parse, because while I had an objectively charmed childhood free of the trauma that plagues so many people I know, there is still a lot about the way that I grew up that I don’t necessarily want to pass down to the next generation. And, if I’m being honest, a lot of this has less to do with how I was raised and more about how I internalized the way I was raised.
I carry a lot of guilt when it comes to my family—guilt, specifically, about missing out on certain events. Skipping my cousin’s baby sprinkle, turning down an invitation to a birthday party, choosing to spend Easter in the city with friends instead of going to my aunt’s with my family. I’m so incredibly lucky to have my family just an hour’s train ride from Penn Station away. But that proximity also comes with a lot of guilt. I can show up, sure. But I also don’t always want to show up, or have other, non-family commitments that sometimes take precedence.
This is a very clear divergence between my parents and me. They grew up living within a 20 minute drive of most of their family, so showing up wasn’t even a question. Since I was a kid, my mother stressed the importance of family, and keeping the family together, and putting the family first. But times are different. Her three children live in three different states. We keep in touch with our cousins in different ways—texting, social media, sending photos to each other. But still, because I know how important it is to my parents, I feel guilty whenever I RSVP “no” to something.
As I’ve gotten older, I feel like my parents have slowed down and loosened their tightly-formed ideas around the “shoulds” of family. Or maybe I’m finally recognizing their ideas for what they are—not a dictation on how I should live my life, but an example generational priorities that shift as time passes. The idea of keeping the family together is still extremely important to me. But I don’t necessarily think that going to every single family event is the way to do that.
For me, it’s more about quality than quantity. I treasure the moments I have with my family, gathered around a table, yelling over one another, silverware clanking. It’s part of the reason why I so look forward to dinner time, even though it’s only me and Ben around the table. (For now.) That’s something I will pass on to my children. I can’t wait to spend evening after evening around the table, television off, hearing about their day. If this delicious bolognese recipe—one that is a pure invention of my mother—is in the center of the table, that’s even better, because it means I’m passing my love of food on to them, too. And that, to me, is familial love.
INGREDIENTS
2 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup each of finely chopped celery, carrot, and onion
3 cloves garlic, minced or grated
1 lb ground beef
3 1/2 cup tomato purée (I like Mutti best)
1 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp salt
1 lb pasta (I like fusilli, rigatoni, or gemelli)
Grated parmesan, for serving
INSTRUCTIONS
In a large skillet, heat olive oil over a medium flame until shimmering. Add carrot, celery, onion, and garlic. Sauté 5-7 minutes until tender.
Add ground beef and cook until browned, stirring occasionally.
Add tomato purée, oregano, and salt. Heat to boiling, and then reduce to a simmer. Allow to simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally so that the sauce doesn’t stick.
Meanwhile, cook your pasta according to package directions. Drain, reserving a cup of the pasta water.
Toss your pasta with the sauce, adding a dash of pasta water when needed to loosen the sauce and coat the noodles. Serve immediately with grated parmesan.