Several years ago, my friend Greta Caruso began having friends over to her apartment in New York City every Sunday night for dinner. Even though she’s a wonderful cook, the dinners were never extravagant. Instead, each was an occasion for Greta to reconnect with close friends and a way for her to anchor her week. The dinners were so special that I started planning my trips to New York around them.
At Greta’s table, I witnessed whims evolve into traditions. I watched my friend take pleasure in creating beauty as she set the table with her favorite vintage linens, candlesticks and flower arrangements. Each week, when the Castelvetrano olives appeared, we’d all instinctively put our phones down — not because Greta had decreed it, but because it felt so nice to be together for a few hours no matter what was happening in the outside world.
Watch Samin Make a Meaty Pasta Sauce for a Crowd
Recipe: Lazy Sugo
I’ve spent my entire adult life gathering at rowdy tables for delicious meals, but something about those Sunday dinners was different. Greta’s focus was less about what was on the table and more on who was around it. Though I sat there dozens of times, I could probably tell you only a couple of things we ate. Yet I can recall scores of jokes and stories, and all the times I was kicked under the table for being dense. I remember the buzzy thrill of being introduced to new romantic partners and the heaviness of consoling grieving friends.
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