The Importance of Family Meals: A Personal Reflection

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Growing up in New Jersey, my family had a ritual of gathering for dinner every evening at 6 p.m. My father was employed in paving construction, while my mother pursued higher education, first earning her BA and then her Master’s in art history. It wasn’t until I became an adult, living in California with my own family, that I truly appreciated how my parents managed to prepare a hot meal for my brother Josh and me each night. Dinner was a collaborative effort, viewed as a necessity rather than a luxury. Everyone contributed.

My mother often prepared large, one-pot meals that Josh and I playfully dubbed “Sludge” (wide egg noodles with ground beef and an assortment of frozen vegetables) and “Death Warmed Over,” a chicken and rice dish made less palatable by an abundance of lima beans. My father took charge of plating and cleaning up. A pot of “Death Warmed Over” could sustain us from Sunday through Wednesday. I remember my relief when the serving spoon hit the bottom. Regardless of the meal, we convened at the table at 6 p.m., ready to share our daily experiences—the highs, the lows, the exaggerations, and the victories. It was our time to connect.

Being late for dinner required an explanation:

• “Driver’s ed with Mr. Thompson.”
• “Dual-meet against Plainfield.”
• “Delivering gravel.”
• “Studying the Renaissance in Italy.”

Once you sat down, you made an effort to engage with one another, regardless of whether you were a moody teen or a fatigued parent. Conversations encompassed a broad range of topics, from jokes and riddles to current events. Josh and I often teamed up to make our parents laugh.

Today, I have a husband, Max, who was accustomed to dinner at 5:15 p.m., and we have two children of our own. Our family dynamics are hectic, with each of us rushing around through the day. Often, I feel like I’m merely exchanging quick farewells with my loved ones: “Goodbye, see you later, have a great day! Bye!” However, when dinner time approaches, we aim for 6 p.m., though it sometimes stretches to 7:30. I relish hearing the latest updates from my children: who faced disciplinary action at school, who has a crush, who scored or defended a goal, and of course, who heard something amusing on NPR. Our meals act as a magnet, drawing us together at the end of the day, often accompanied by a friend or two who stops by around 6 p.m. Family dinner serves as a necessary gathering time.

Recently, my 8-year-old son, Oliver, expressed a desire to help by slicing cucumbers for our salad. “Aren’t these cucumbers delicious tonight?” he asked once we were all seated. His older brother, Liam, praised him, “You cut them, right? Nice job!” “Thanks for helping,” Max added.

Last winter, our neighbor, Mr. Lewis, received a colon cancer diagnosis. His children attend school with mine, and I wanted to offer support, but I felt uncertain about how to help. We arranged carpooling and had their kids over for playdates, but it didn’t seem like enough. One Thursday, while picking up a chicken for dinner, I decided to buy a second one to roast for the Lewis family. I delivered it hot, just before dinner time, and they texted their gratitude. This gesture turned into a weekly tradition; I began dropping off a roasted chicken every Thursday. As Mr. Lewis transitioned from chemotherapy to radiation, I included potatoes and vegetables in aluminum pans for easy disposal.

As the weeks passed, I became familiar with their Thursday routine. To announce my delivery, I would text a silly chicken joke or simply say, “Cluck cluck.” I continued this for several months.

What I prepare for my family, I also make for theirs. The meals are fresh, organic, colorful, and made with care. Whether it’s chicken breasts, thighs, or a whole bird seasoned with herbs and lemon, or baked baby potatoes alongside sautéed kale, each dish is crafted thoughtfully. Sometimes, I include a chickpea or lentil salad, brimming with scallions and parsley.

On a recent Thursday, I found Mr. Lewis and his son, Ethan, discussing Samuel Beckett’s plays as I handed over the meal. After giving Mr. Lewis a hug—just two weeks post-surgery—I noted the warmth of family togetherness as his wife and daughter joined the conversation. It was heartening to witness their family dynamic, reminding me of my own upbringing.

I didn’t linger to see if they enjoyed the meal immediately or saved it for later, but that wasn’t important. They could dive into their discussion of “Waiting for Godot” without the burden of meal prep. When they felt hungry, they could simply uncover the foil and dig in.

Walking home, I felt a sense of fulfillment in helping my neighbors. I like to believe that my delivered meals serve as a family magnet for them, just as they do in my household. Instead of worrying about cooking and cleaning, they can focus on enjoying time together, perhaps even sharing laughter like Josh and I used to.

Since I began cooking for the Lewis family nearly a year ago, I’ve realized that the joy of family dinners extends beyond just my own family. The experience of sharing a meal with another family enhances the sense of connection and community. Next Thursday, I will continue this tradition.

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Summary

Family dinners provide an essential opportunity for connection and support. Through shared meals, families can bond, share experiences, and create lasting memories. This reflection illustrates the importance of communal meals, not just for one’s own family, but also for neighbors in need. As the author began delivering meals to a neighbor facing health challenges, she discovered the profound impact that shared nourishment can have on building relationships and fostering community.