Sabbath Feast at Nana's

Before my grandma and grandpa on my mother's side moved down to sunny Florida, Nana used to cook us a special meal every Sabbath.  But this wasn't just any ordinary Sabbath lunch.  Nana would slave away for hours on Friday night to make sure all her best dishes were ready for us the next day.  Unlike the average American home, I come from a truly culture-enriched Hungarian  family.  This meant that we got to eat the Hungarian food-- goulash, kiflis, stuffed red peppers, cabbage rolls, baklava, and of coarse Nana's soup that could heal any sickness.  Let me tell you, you did not leave that house hungry. 

After a quiet prayer was muttered by my pastor Grandpa, the aura in the room would change immediately.  Loud chatter of Hungarian mixed with Yugoslavian and a few names like my own thrown into the mix, created a chaotic environment.  When my friends come visit and eat lunch with all of us they always ask, "Oh my gosh what is everyone fighting about?" I then reply with something like "Oh, don't worry, Nana was just asking mom to pass the peppers".  The food was delicious, but if you thought that it would be quiet while we ate you would be mistaken.  If you collected a bunch of food on your plate but then somehow could not finish it--oh boy were you in trouble.  Tradition is if you can't finish your food, the only way to be excused is to cry because you are already so full you could not possibly eat one more bite.  

Those meals were unforgettable, and now they are only more special because they are only about twice a year because they moved.  Every Sabbath was a blessing, was filled with joy and chatter, and not one was ever the same as the last.