From the Dining Table

Words By: Maya Floreani Graphics By: Meegan Minahan

We sit around the table, young and old, in our squeaky chairs, chatting against the lovely howl of Sinatra music in the background. The dishes clang around, forming piles at the sink and stove top, embodying the loud but loving familial chaos that goes on in the kitchen when preparing a meal. A hearty red table cloth covers the dimples of my grandparents’ well-loved wooden dining table. The smooth fabric sits carefully underneath my Nonna’s fine white china, which gleams bright, welcoming, and empty, as if inviting a colorful feast to fill its blank canvas with saucey smears and diverse textures. The table is set precisely by my Nonna and enhanced with her signature decor: vintage candlesticks and an elegant vase with flowers to match. Savory smells from the kitchen sift to the table, heightening everyone’s excitement. Our anticipation finally eases as the seemingly never-ending dishes arrive; our table becomes covered with trays of pillowy, ricotta-layered lasagna, gritty polenta, creamy risotto, and fragrant meatballs covered in a sea of rich, red tomato sauce, as bright in flavor as it is in appearance. My Nonno’s signature minestrone soup and fresh salad, both crafted with a medley of vegetables straight from his backyard garden, come out alongside one of my aunt’s new and surely exquisite recipes. The sight is picturesque and grand, yet homey and familiar, with mix-matched bowls and pans littering every corner of space so that you can barely reach your fork. Each dish gets passed around. Everyone tries a taste of everything and leaves no culinary creation untouched. Eventually, all plates are covered as the dining table, leaving a delicious, abstract mosaic in front of each hungry guest. And when it’s time for seconds, the unsaid rule is to dig in, meaning my brother and I comically reach for the same spoon simultaneously. This is family-style dining.

“What does family-style dining mean to you?”

My mom fondly recalls holidays in Guatemala, where she would enjoy a traditional feast of Lechón, stuffed Pierna, or tamales with her big extended family. Not only is the meal an experience, but the preparation is a show

of its own, with multiple family members coming together to cook. Tamales involve the whole family in an assembly line, forming cornmeal masa and filling each with care. From preparation to table, family is always part of the process, making food an active and affectionate experience, full of socializing and buzzing movement. She describes familystyle as nostalgic, from sharing cooking responsibilities to the food itself. Everyone brings something unique to the table, filling it with the vibrant colors of tropical ingredients and the tempting aromas of hearty, holiday dishes.

Similarly, my aunts emphasize the comforting feeling of sharing large platters of modest food at home and in restaurants. It is familiar, casual, and homey-- “simple, but always tasty,” like carbonara pasta. It fosters connectedness, “illuminating how sharing is such a huge

component of connecting because frankly, it’s basically love.” They reminisce on the Italian cooking shared with them by my grandparents, who always expressed their love through their home-cooking, with its deep history, passed along generations. Within the food, there is shared culture, customs, and values that translate directly into the experience shared by the consumers. Beyond being physically nourishing, it is also nourishing to the soul. Authentic and relatable, family-style dining is an equalizer, putting everyone on the same level, where people eat the same food and are allowed to be themselves.

My dad notes how everyone eating the same cuisine at the same time creates the ideal conversation piece. “The food is enhanced by the company around you,” he says. Through the intimate act of sharing a meal, relationships are built. My dad’s favorite past-time (perhaps quite literally) is breaking bread together. While it is a seemingly simple phrase, it holds deep significance in my family. To break bread is to share, to converse, and to spend quality time with one another. It is to love and to listen, to toast to one’s accomplishments, and to support in times of losses. In many cultures, food is love, and in the Italian culture, no less. Every minute is a blissful bite or a snippet of delicious conversation, as the two alternate in seamless harmony. When our mouths aren’t occupied with chewing, they are full of words that express raw emotion, vibrant passion, or sometimes, a reflective, telling silence. Breaking bread involves the physical touch of the act, but also the figurative breaking of cross-cultural boundaries and the forming of new relationships of trust; after all, in such an experience, one must be open to experiment, taking a little of everything.

My friends and I have been brought closer together by family-style eating. From restaurant excursions, to potlucks and Friendsgiving, to having family dinner at each other’s houses, we learn from one another, share, and gain new appreciations for each other’s tastes and cultures. From Michela’s family, I learned to carefully

craft delicate gnocchis by hand, uneven and dimpled, like a child’s art project, which we all admired at dinner when it was served in a sage butter sauce. Kalea’s grandma prepares large platters of lumpia, or crispy Filipino egg rolls-- the perfect snacks to fuel our summertime conversations in the backyard. At our favorite tapas restaurant, my friends and I savor small plates, assuring that everyone gets a taste. Golden empanadas, croquettas, garlicky camarones, and my favorite, caramelized dates wrapped in smokey bacon, all come out one after the other, landing on our plates and gone in a flash, prompting us to call the waiter for our next round. Emily and I explore authentic Chinese hotpot with our friend James, who also gives us a lesson in the proper use of chopsticks and the importance of serving food to your friends. Food is sharing. It’s friendships. It’s personal, as close as you can get to someone’s cultural identity and the roots of their family history. And while a meal and its fleeting flavors may seem temporary, the treasured memories last a lifetime. I find comfort in this fact; there is a lifetime of meals to be shared, enjoyed, and remembered. To me, this is the pleasure of life.

When we go out to dinner, it is not much different. We nearly always order in a family-style manner so that we can all try a bit of everything. Upon our request, the restaurant lines up tables of different shapes and sizes to accommodate our group. The long, make-shift table is eventually filled with meals, just as it is at home. We might sit here for hours, sharing stories in between spoonfuls. In the lulls of conversation, we serve our neighbors. Sometimes hands reach over one another for the last bite, arms entangled in a dance of passion for the flavor of life. When everyone’s full and content, we linger at the table for perhaps another hour or two, brimming with satisfaction and enjoying the company, taking in the ambiance of authenticity.

So, what does “family-style” really mean when it comes to the context of food? Perhaps the best answer to the question is heard at the dinner table itself, in between bites-- in the small chatters, the belly laughs, the silverware scraping the plate clean, and the sharing itself as we reach for more, break the warm, crusty bread, and serve one another-- the sounds of a universal language of love.