To her, a big midday meal after church on Sunday was dinner. As a teenager, sitting at the table, I would ask, “So if this is dinner, what meal will we have later tonight?” Supper, came the answer. “Okay then, when was lunch?” We’re not having lunch today, we’re having dinner. “But if a guy calls and asks me out to dinner, he’s not gonna show up at noon. Right?” It won’t matter, said my brother, because your sorry butt won’t be out of bed by noon anyway! My parents chuckled. I gave him the stink eye.

After many debates like this, I finally nailed down the distinction that Mom was unconsciously making. Dinner is the largest, most rounded meal of the day, regardless of whether it happens at noon or in the evening. If dinner happens at noon, the evening meal is supper. If dinner happens in the evening, the noon meal is lunch. “The only thing that was served on Holy Thursday was bread and wine,” she once told me. “That’s why it wasn’t the Last Dinner. Not enough food groups!” I couldn’t come up with a retort that didn’t include blasphemy.

Right then, I found a dictionary and looked up “supper”: 1) the evening meal, especially when dinner is taken at midday; a light meal served late in the evening.

And then, of course, “dinner”: the principal meal of the day.

Dang, I hated when she was right!

And a principal meal it was. We ate well during the week, but dinner on Sundays was good eatin’ – definitely something not to be missed. Rested up from the week, Mom would crank out a meal fit for a king, and we loved it. Mom was a big believer in intentionally making enough to have leftovers, which made things easier during the coming week. This meant that the selection on the Sunday table was huge, and she always made sure that everyone had a few things available that they really liked.

Often, there would be more than one meat to choose from. A roast and fried chicken, for example. Or a baked chicken and a ham. On these occasions, Dad would raise his head from being bowed for the blessing, comment on how great everything looked, and wow, it’s even a two meat Sunday! Just like the old days, he and Mom would say.

They were referring to the Sunday dinners of my mother’s youth, because at Grandma’s house, every Sunday was a two meat Sunday.

My favorite photo of "the eleven". Mom is standing, second from the right. Denise is standing, center.

Mom was the sixth of nine children, you see, so even without any guests, Grandma was cooking for eleven people (!). But on Sundays, there were always guests. Grandma’s brother and his family, cousins from down the road, family in from out of town. Later, sons- and daughters-in-law entered the picture, and eventually, us grandkids. So basically, the largest home-cooked meal I’ve ever made was just a typical Sunday for Grandma. She could run circles around me. She could do what I consider to be a “production” with one hand tied behind her back and blindfolded.

This explains a lot, actually. It explains why my mom and her sisters thought nothing of creating a “production” in their kitchens, because to them, it was perfectly normal to crank out enough food for an army. Simple was boring and, actually, impractical.  It explains why my mom always seems like she was rushing around in the kitchen, because Grandma was a flurry of activity.  She never actually sat down with the family to eat, but instead busied herself refilling glasses, serving seconds, and prepping the dessert.

Once, as a small child, just having learned the concept of fairness, I felt that Grandma must be starving. Here she was serving us, while we all ate right in front of her! Pigs at a trough, we were! I walked into the kitchen, pulled on her apron, and told her she could have my seat. “Child, I’m just happy we’re all together,” she said. And then, crouching down, in a whisper, “I’ve been tasting the food all morning – I’m full as a tick!” She sent me back to table with a knowing glance.

Just this week, I asked my aunt what the two meats were all about. Why not just make a giant roast, or a huge batch of fried chicken? Ah, Grasshopper, you have much to learn. The family was full of hunters and fishermen, you see, so the first meat was usually fish, fowl, or game. The second meat was more ordinary fare, so as not to frighten the young children (and daughters-in-law). Ohhhhhhh. As a people-pleaser, that makes perfect sense.  If I cook that much food, there better not be anyone turning up their nose at it.

Next question, Aunt Denise: if a normal Sunday dinner was a 2-3 dozen people requiring three tables (two it the dining room, one in the kitchen), was Easter Sunday any different? Not really, came the reply.

When you do it up right all the time, I suppose special occasion meals aren’t all that different.  Which is kind of neat actually, because then the focus can be on the holiday.  Which is as it should be.  Right?

Regardless of how (or whether!) you celebrate, I hope your Easter is as special as a “two meat Sunday”. 

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Mom taught me early in my “apprenticeship” that ham is the easiest way to feed a lot of people.  In fact, there’s an old quote in the food world: “Eternity is two people and a ham.” 

It’s easy because you’re basically just rewarming it to a specific temperature, and adding a glaze for flavor – definitely a no-fuss way to add a second meat to add to a meal.  Plus, it’s incredibly versatile left over.  Sandwiches, omelettes, quiche, risotto, chef salad – the list of ways to reinvent it goes on and on…

Another reason it’s easy is that it holds its temperature for so long. See the note at the end of the recipe.

Baked Ham with Honey-Brandy Glaze
Adapted from Thanksgiving (Williams-Sonoma)

1 fully cooked bone-in 18-pound smoked ham
3 cups water
1 cup brandy
1 cup unfiltered apple cider
¾ cup honey

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat to 325°F. Slice away the rind (if any) and most of the fat from the upper surface of the ham, leaving a layer of fat about ¼-inch thick. With a sharp knife, shallowly score the upper surface of the ham into a diamond pattern.

Place the ham on a rack in a shallow roasting pan just large enough to hold it comfortably. Add the water to the pan and place it in the oven. Bake for 2 ¼ hours.

Meanwhile, in a measuring pitcher, stir together the brandy, cider, and honey. At the 2 ¼-hour mark, pour off the water from the roasting pan. Baste the ham with about one-third of the brandy mixture and bake for 12 minutes. Continue to bake, basting the ham with the brandy mixture at 12-minute intervals, first from the pitcher and then from the roasting pan, until the ham is glazed and shiny, for another 35 minutes or so (for a total baking time of about 3 hours).

Let the ham rest on a cutting board for 15 minutes before carving.  Serve hot or warm.

Make-Ahead Tip: Since the ham is as good warm as it is hot (and since it stays hot for eat least one hour after baking), don’t hesitate to let it rest, uncarved, while you use the oven for side dishes.

Makes 10 servings, plus ample leftovers.

Tags: holiday recipes, main dish recipes, memoirs

In the interest of full disclosure, you should know how we celebrate Valentine’s Day in our household:  we don’t.

How’s that for a bah humbug? I, personally, am ambivalent about the day. It’s laced with pressure to be romantic, which seems forced at best. That’s precisely why so many people fall prey to all that loathsome cheesy Valentine’s garbage: they aren’t feeling particular amorous, but they’ve gotta do something.   Bad move.  Valentine’s Day is to romance what New Year’s Eve is to partying like a rock star: it usually doesn’t end well.  I mean, is it really romantic if it’s required?

Matt takes it a step further.  A few weeks before every Valentine’s Day, I check in with him to make sure we’re on the same page.  Which, after nine years of marriage and knowing each other all our lives, is completely unnecessary – but it’s fun to gauge his reaction, which grows more irreverent every year.  Here’s how our conversation went this year:

Me: Hey, what do you want to do for Valentine’s Day?

Him: Pretend it doesn’t exist.

Me, laughing: Really? Because I’ll be disappointed if you don’t buy me a teddy bear with “Be” and “Mine” stitched on either paw.

Him: I have no time for crappy made-up holidays.

Ah, true love: it knows no bounds.  If Cupid himself had been standing in the room, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Matt had told him to buzz off.

Alright, so you’re not as disillusioned as we are, and you’ve got a date/significant other/spouse to impress.  The pressure’s on.  You either struck out trying to score reservations, or you’re smart enough to dodge the crowded overpriced restaurant scene (it’s second only to Mother’s Day), and you want to cook for your honey.  Trouble is, you have no idea what to make.  Read on, friend – I’m here to give you my unprofessional, disinterested take on how to impress a date for Valentine’s.  (To do this, I’ll pretend that I’m making dinner for an actual occasion, and not a “crappy made-up holiday”.)

Let’s talk menu.

Lead Role. Give some thought to what your date really enjoys to eat.  What’s their favorite cuisine and/or restaurant?  What’s the one thing they order when they really want to go all out?  This can be an entree, dessert, anything really.  Of all the ideas you’ve come up with, what do you have a shot at doing really really well?

In our house, the lead role would be a high-quality steak: either New York strip, ribeye, or filet.  I’d choose which based on my budget and what looks good at the meat counter, but odds are that the strip would win out.

Supporting Cast. You need a dish or two to complement your Lead Role, but I cannot stress this enough: Keep it simple.  Let your Lead Role be the complete and total star of the evening.  Focus on doing it amazingly well, and fill in the details with dishes that are tasty but also fairly easy and pressure-free.

In our house, this would be asparagus.  Why?  Because I can steam it in the microwave (gasp!) in less than five minutes, dress it very simply (good olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, salt and pepper), and it’s a natural pair with steak.  Plus, it’s a guilt management thing: we’re already going to need to Roto-Rooter our arteries after the steak and dessert.  Speaking of which…

Dessert. This assumes that you didn’t assign dessert to the lead role, which if you’re cooking for me, would be the way to go.  Again: Keep. It. Simple.  Choose something that you can do at least a day ahead (cheesecake, sorbet, etc.).  Or, better yet, pick up your honey’s favorite dessert from their favorite restaurant earlier in the day.  Just keep the fuss factor low, so you can focus on whom?  That’s right: the Lead Role.

If you chose dessert as your Lead Role, then pick some sort of yummy go-to entree that you can do well with your eyes closed.  Quiche, perhaps!  Or, pick up something fabulous from a restaurant that will hold up for a couple of hours, like lasagna, risotto, or even sushi.

Drinks. Champagne is a must, if your honey drinks it.  I don’t care if you hate the stuff, get some flutes and sip it gingerly and pretend you like it.  When your date isn’t looking, dump it down the drain and then feel free to make a cocktail that you actually enjoy.  (If your date knows you hate Champagne and calls you out, tell them: “I know how much you like it, so I wanted to give it another try.  It’s Valentine’s Day, after all….”)  As a Champagne lover, I can tell you two things:  a) it’s a hopelessly romantic drink, and b) nothing ruins my Champagne experience more than being the only one drinking it.  Bubbly loves company.

If your honey doesn’t do champagne, choose their favorite beverage.  I don’t care if it’s root beer, the point is that you pay enough attention to know what they love, and you took the time to make it happen.  Cocktails are an easy way to dial up the wow factor with very little fuss.  In our house, I’m the Champagne lush, but I’d be cooking for Matt, so I’d start with a Crown and water and then find the best cabernet around to serve with the steak, because that’s what teeters his totter.

Starter. This is optional, but highly recommended.  If you get in the weeds with the entree, you’ll be relieved that you had something to munch on while you work it out.  Trust me, here – I’m the queen of great intentions and botched timing.  If I’m cooking for Matt, this is going to be a really nice selection of cheeses, some he knows, some that are new, and all that pair well with his cab.  (Did you notice that all I have to do is set out the cheese?)

Now, strategy.  The basic idea is that you want your date to tell all their friends about the amazing [insert Lead Role here] you made for them.  I want Matt to brag about the steak, period.  Who cares about the asparagus?  The dessert was dessert, but man, that steak.  And the perfect cab to go with it!  It was way better than going out, he’ll say.

This is the goal.  Stay focused on the Lead Role, and do well enough with the other stuff to not detract from it.  Easier for you, and more memorable overall.

You have six days for your mission, should you choose to accept it…  Good luck.

If you’re looking for me, I’ll be celebrating the fact that we’re not celebrating.  Hopefully with a glass of Champagne.

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When it comes to steak, Matt and I are both purists.  We enjoy a thick, high-quality steak, and we don’t want any marinade or rub to get in the way – we want the flavor of the steak to sing from the mountaintops: tra-la-la!

2 steaks (strip steaks and rib-eyes should be about 1 1/2 inches thick, filet mignon should be 2 1/2 inches thick)
2 teaspoons canola oil
Kosher salt, to taste

Remove the steaks from the refrigerator two hours before cooking time. Pat them dry with paper towels (dry steaks get a better sear in the pan).

Preheat the oven to 400°F, with the rack set in the middle.

Heat a the heaviest skillet you have (preferably cast-iron) over medium-high heat, until a few drops of water sprinkled in the pan evaporate within three seconds. Coat the pan with the canola oil.

Liberally salt the steaks with kosher salt, about 3/4 teaspoon for each steak.

Place steaks in the pan and sear for 2 minutes on each side, flipping each only once with tongs.

Transfer the pan with the steaks to the oven and roast for roughly 8 to 9 minutes for 1 1/2-inch steaks to achieve medium-rare.  An instant-read thermometer should register between 125 and 130 degrees. (I actually use a probe thermometer with an alarm that sounds when it reaches the desired temperature. If you roast meats very often, I highly recommend getting one.)

Tent the steaks with aluminum foil and let rest for five to ten minutes before serving.

Tags: holiday recipes, main dish recipes, memoirs