Archives for January 2011

We’ve Hit An All-Time Klassy High

Over the weekend D went to Academy Sports to pick up a couple of things for a camping trip that he and the little man have coming up in a few weeks. Camping has turned out to be one of Alex’s ALL-TIME FAVORITE THINGS EVER, and it’s a fun little twist of family irony considering my love for air conditioning and cable television and doors that can be secured with LOCKS AND BOLTS.

As tickled to pieces as I am that my fellas enjoy going camping together, I’m firm in my conviction that it’s just not my thing. After all, I am a person who cannot bear to read historical fiction because I can’t stop thinking about how blazing hot everyone must have been in all those corsets and petticoats and bonnets. And then I get all co-dependent and worried because they must have been just miserable and THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A WINDOW UNIT.

Besides, I really don’t see anything even remotely romantic or idyllic about a book where a bunch of Southern belles from the 1800s show up for a festive August picnic in their finest antebellum gowns. Because really, how useful are those pretty gowns going to be when all those girls are laid out with a heat stroke fifteen minutes after their arrival?


Also: we can herald the pluck and the grit of the whole Ingalls family until the cows come home, but that does not change the fact that Laura Ingalls had to have been BURNING SLAP UP when she ran around those pastures or fields and helped Ma whip up a hearty summertime stew. Honestly, if I were Laura Ingalls I’d have befriended Nellie Olsen at every given opportunity. Because do you know what I bet Mr. Olsen had access to by virtue of the fact that he owned a store? AN ICE BLOCK.

Here’s a loaf of homemade bread, Nellie! And your bangs look FANTASTIC this morning! Why don’t we talk about how you keep your dresses so crisp and white WHILE WE SIT ON THE ICE BLOCK?

I now have no idea what I was originally talking about.

Oh, yes. Camping. Sort of.

So D came home with his Academy purchases, and he said, “I bought a chair for Alex” as he pulled a small box from the shopping bag. I never know what to expect when my husband buys something for our house, mainly because when we first got married his favorite furniture items always required assembly and typically employed a design motif of black laminate and smoky glass panels.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

Anyway, D went on to explain that the chair he’d picked up for Alex was inflatable. He’d noticed that when the little guy has friends over and they’re watching a movie or playing the Wii, one person usually claims the bean bag and then the others sort of sprawl out on the floor. D thought it might be nice if there was one more kid-friendly seat, and I thought that sounded like a fine idea, especially since it wouldn’t be something that we’d necessarily need to keep out all the time. I pictured something about the size of those convertible chairs you find in toy departments, and I was totally on board.


Tonight before the little guy’s bedtime, D mentioned to Alex that they needed to blow up the new chair (those words do have a certain air of sophistication about them, don’t they?). I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the process because all the air pump action was going on behind me. After about five minutes, though, D said, “I think this chair might be a little bit bigger than I originally thought,” and y’all, when I turned around, OH HAVE MERCY I AM CERTAIN THAT I GASPED AUDIBLY.

You see, it’s really not so much a chair as it is a chair and a half. Or a loveseat. It’s HUGE. And it would be fine to set up for Alex and his buddies when they need it, but I’m afeared that we would RIP IT TO SMITHEREENS if we tried to move the inflated version down the hall. It’s really best-suited for ON-SITE inflation, come to think of it.

We took a break from our chair issues for a few minutes so that we could tuck in the little guy and say prayers, and afterwards I finished cleaning up the kitchen. When I walked back in the den about twenty minutes later, I saw that my husband had found a way to incorporate the new (INFLATABLE) chair into our decor. Approximately twelve inches away from the television.


My eyes must have been as wide as saucers because D immediately said, “It won’t stay there forever. REALLY. Because when you need for the room to look pretty, WE CAN JUST DEFLATE IT.” And then he sat down on his inflatable throne and blew up some things on the Xbox. I had to laugh, mainly because he was so delighted by his new set-up. Plus, it’s apparent that the chair meets several of my husband’s furniture requirements. It’s portable, it has a cup holder – all that’s missing, really, is the ability to recline.

Since D was playing video games, I grabbed my laptop so that I could chronicle our recent decorative developments while I watched some HGTV in the guest room. An hour or so later I decided that I needed a little orange juice, and when I walked past the den, I immediately noticed that D didn’t leave the chair raft in front of the TV when he finished playing Xbox. I guess that’s the good news.

Here’s the bad news.

Apparently this is where we’re storing it. Or stacking it, as it were.

Clearly we’re going to have to come up with, oh, I don’t know, A DIFFERENT PLAN.

And do you know what? Despite my admitted aversion to Things Historical, I’m convinced that I know exactly how Laura Ingalls would handle this situation.

She’d pop that sucker with one of Nellie Olsen’s hair pins.

Maybe there’s something to be said for ye olden days after all.

All The Uneventful Events

Thursday afternoon the little man and I went to the Walmarts to pick up a few things, and while we were there I decided that I’d take a leap of hair care faith and buy a bottle of the Volume Enhancer. Granted, there was a chance that the Volume Enhancer would be a dud, but I was prepared to risk my six or maybe even six and a half dollars for the sake of some exciting height-at-the-crown possibilities. I figured the worst thing that could happen was that the Volume Enhancer wouldn’t work and I’d chronicle all my hair-related disappointment and heartache in a blog post. Which is really no different than the eighty-four other times that I’ve bored you to tears with my hair woes.

So I rounded up all the groceries that we needed, and on the way to the check-out I stopped in the hair care section. I looked up and down and around – I walked from one aisle to the next to the next and turned around and retraced my steps – and I finally came to the SHOCKING conclusion that my Walmart no longer carries certain John Frieda products. Seriously. There was no Frizz Ease, no Luxurious Volume, no Root Awakening. And if you combine the absence of those John Frieda products with the fact that my Walmart has also stopped carrying Mentholatum, you can understand why MY WORLD NO LONGER MAKES ANY SENSE AT ALL.

I had every intention of going to Walgreens Friday – for I knew that they were more than capable of taking care of my hair volume needs – but unfortunately the trip to Walgreens was postponed due to my overwhelming desire to take a very long nap. The antibiotics I’ve been taking have thrown me for a bit of a loop (keep in mind that I am a person whose yearly pharmaceutical intake consists of approximately four to six Advil and the occasional Tylenol PM), and I’ve spent a significant portion of the weekend sleeping or thinking about sleeping or wondering if my brain will feel less fuzzy and foggy if I just get a little bit more sleep.

I’ve also watched a significant amount of programming on The Cooking Channel. Have y’all watched? Because IT IS DELIGHTFUL. Rachael Ray has a new show that takes you through the process of making a week’s worth of meals in one day, and the dishes look so hearty and tasty that they make me want to get in my kitchen and chop things. Not that I have any recipes in mind, of course. I just want to chop things to my heart’s content and then place them in colorful bowls. WHICH IS TOTALLY NORMAL.

Today I think I finally hit on the magic formula in terms of when to take my medicine with minimal foggy drowsy fuzziness, so it’s been a much more productive, active day. After church we went to Chuy’s, and then we went to Costco because apparently we enjoy receiving instruction from the Word, putting the hurt on some tortilla chips and then wheeling a shopping cart through a crowded warehouse so that we can sufficiently stock up on Goldfish and toilet paper and dishwasher detergent.

Oh, America. You are so kicky and quirky and fun.

Late this afternoon I met a friend for coffee, and I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw this sign taped to the counter next to the cash register.

In other words:

Welcome to Starbucks Coffee. Unfortunately we cannot serve you any coffee at this time. Thank you for your patience.

All in all it was a mighty restful weekend. Except for the part that involved Costco. But at least the Costco trip resulted in the purchase of a sah-weet new bag of Veggie Straws, so, you know, SCORE.

What’s going on with y’all?

In Which I Am Intrigued

First of all, I’d forgotten how ornery antibiotics make me. But sure enough, I’m three doses into my prescription and ready to SHARE SOME OPINIONS ON SOME THINGS. This afternoon I went to the grocery store, saw the packed parking lot, circled a couple of times to look for a space, felt completely annoyed, turned out of the parking lot, drove home and ordered pizza for supper. I GUESS I TAUGHT PUBLIX A LESSON, NOW DIDN’T I?

See? I’m practically overflowing with grace and charm. What a delight and a joy I will no doubt be to my friends and family for the next nine days.

However, I’m going to try to push my ish-ahs aside for a few minutes because I’m dying to tell y’all about something I saw for the very first time yesterday. I can’t quit thinking about it, so I’m curious to know if any of you have any personal experience with it.

Perhaps I should explain.

When I went to the drugstore yesterday to get my (bad mood-inducing) prescription filled, I decided to just hang out in the store while I waited on my medicine. I do adore a drugstore, and we frequent the one closest to our house two or three times a week, probably. It’s where I go when I run out of stuff like my beloved Icebreakers or make-up or hair products or cleaning supplies. Sometimes I just like to look at the office supplies or see if there’s anything good on the seasonal aisle. Because I think it’s pretty clear that I like to LIVE ON THE EDGE.

While I was waiting on my prescription I made a quick stop at the grocery aisle to grab a 12-pack of Diet Coke, and then I strolled over to the make-up aisle so I could check out the latest Sally Hansen nail polish offerings. I haven’t had a pedicure since October, so my toes are in dire need of some TLC. Hopefully my new “Commander in Chic” polish will be the cure for their wintertime blues.

I continued with my wild and crazy afternoon by checking out the hair care aisle. I know I’ve mentioned a time or twelve that I enjoy a good drugstore hair care product (and I’m a devoted user of L’Oreal EverPure shampoo and conditioner, John Frieda Luxurious Volume Root Booster and John Frieda Frizz-Ease Moisture Barrier hair spray). But even though I have my go-to favorites, I’m always on the look-out for something new and interesting. I’d hate to be stiff-necked and prideful about my hair care products, you understand. I might miss a blessing.

Anyway, I was looking at the John Frieda Luxurious Volume stuff when a skinny little bottle that I’d never seen before caught my eye. And when I picked it up and saw what it was, I was curious and delighted and puzzled and intrigued all at the same time.

It’s called Volume Refresher. And apparently it’s a dry shampoo that will give your hair a little extra lift and “instantly revitalize flat, limp hair.”

Oh, I could totally get on board with that. I could get on board and blow the whistle and drive that train all the way to Happytown.

But more than anything, I want to carry that little can in my purse and strike up a conversation with somebody and then, after we’ve been talking for a few minutes, ask them if I may please be excused for just a second because I need to refresh my volume.


I ultimately didn’t buy any Volume Refresher because I was a little afeared that it could become a stronghold with me. The pursuit of optimal volume (particularly in the crown area) has been a lifelong pursuit for me, and just knowing that there’s a product that will help me “instantly revitalize” my volume is almost too much for my heart to take. I really think this stuff could become my hair Mentholatum. And I know those are strong words, my friends, but I feel them way down deep in my soul.

So have y’all seen this stuff? Have you tried it? Would you recommend it? Or are you, like me, simply trying to take in and process all the Volume Refresher possibilites? Imagining what it would be like to volumize your hair at a red light? Or right before you walk into to church? Or in the middle of dinner at your favorite restaurant?

It’s just too much, isn’t it? IT’S TOO MUCH.

All righty. Now that I’ve shared this REVOLUTIONARY NEW FIND I’m going to take my pesky mood and turn on the TV and watch some “American Idol.” I may even talk back a little bit. Because I’m feeling pretty sassy.

And if I had a bottle of that Volume Refresher and could volumize as I watched, I’d just be beside myself.

Maybe next week. It never hurts to pace oneself when there are new volumizing options, after all.

A Little (Kevin) Bacon Makes Everything Better

For the last couple of nights I’ve gotten in the bed really early; I’ve just felt a little congested and tired and sinus-y and whatnot. However, since I’ve struggled a little bit with insomnia lately, I didn’t worry too much about the fact that I wasn’t feeling quite normal because THE SLEEP, OH MY WORD THE SLEEP, IT HAS BEEN SO GLORIOUS. In fact, last night it wasn’t even 10 o’clock when I drifted off to sleep while listening to the melodious sounds of Alyssa Milano talking about a lather-free shampoo hair care system.

And yes, that totally means that I was watching an infomercial. Aye, and proudly.

However, in my defense, I have long been drawn to infomericals that feature exciting new hair care products. For example, does anyone remember the Lori Davis system in the 90s? I never ordered it, of course, but it appeared to work miracles in the areas of de-frizzing and manageability. Plus, Cher was featured on the Lori Davis infomerical, and her presence alone was enough to make a believer out of my early-20s self. I mean, hello? Did you see Cher’s post-makeover hair in Moonstruck? It was SPECTACULAR.

Anyway (SWEET MERCY how I ramble), when I woke up this morning I wasn’t feeling well at all, and by lunchtime I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad headache. I typically only get headaches when I have a sinus infection, so I decided to go ahead and call the doctor like the grown-up I am and make an appointment for him to drill holes under my eyes in the hopes that that would relieve a little bit of the pressure. Not that I was feeling a sense of urgency or anything. And I certainly wasn’t going to insist that he drill holes under my eyes. I would have been just as happy for him to make good use of a small but effective anvil.

I showed up for my appointment a little early, and thankfully the nurse called me back right away. A few minutes later my doctor came into the exam room and grabbed his trusty head lamp and some sort of prong-y implement so that he could see what was going on with my sinuses. He initially looked so alarmed by the state of my sinus cavities that I halfway wanted him to scream “SWEET FANCY MOSES” just to lighten the mood a bit, but it only took him about six seconds to figure out that I do indeed have a mighty lively sinus infection. Even better was the fact that when the doctor was trying to see what was going on, he used the prong thing to press down on an area that must be really swollen because, y’all, when I inhaled I felt a WHOOSH of air surge through my right nasal passage, and I’ll tell you what: IT WAS REFRESHING.


Long story endless: I got a shot and a prescription and my head feels so much better already. As much as I don’t like taking medicine (a trait I come by honest, thanks to my daddy), it’s just the nicest thing ever when the medicine starts to work. Very grateful for that.

And if you’ll bear with me, I’d now like to share something that’s completely unrelated to all that stuff that I just told you. Not that the lack of any sort of cohesive narrative structure has ever stopped me before.

I was in junior high, I think, when “Footloose” came out. I remember going to see it at the theatre with my youth group, but the main thing I remember about that night is that my youth group friends Hallie and Beverly talked ALL. THE. WAY. THROUGH. THE. MOVIE. And I don’t mean that they whispered. I mean that they hooted and yelled and laughed hysterically. I have a vivid memory of Hallie turning around to have a conversation with someone who was about three rows behind her, but the movie? Sort of foggy. As much as I adored the soundtrack and knew every single word of every single song, my only lasting mental images from the movie are John Lithgow screaming the word “PIT” in his sermons and the last dance scene. The end.

Inspiring, isn’t it?

Well, yesterday someone reminded me of a real “Footloose” treasure – A TREASURE, I TELL YOU – and when I watched it I was overcome with delight and joy and merriment and thanksgiving. Oh, today’s movies might have more sophisticated scripts and better special effects and superior production values, but I dare say they cannot touch 80’s movies in the area of The Angry Dance. They can’t come close. Because this angry dance? From “Footloose”? IT IS EPIC.

Please do to enjoy.

That’s poetry in motion, my friends. Poetry set to the music of a sah-weet saxophone.

It just doesn’t get any better. And personally I think we should all walk away from Kevin Bacon’s Angry Dance and feel a renewed sense of determination to perfect our aerial (and also one-handed) cartwheels.

It’s the least we can do to honor his Angry Dance legacy.



In Which I Share Some Not-At-All-Original Ideas

Oh, I loved your comments about Sunday lunch. And yes, we do typically call it “Sunday dinner” in these parts. But I thought maybe saying “Sunday dinner” would make y’all think I was talking about supper – which would still be delightful, of course – so I went with the more typical diction.

There. I feel that I’ve overexplained enough. Remember, I am nothing if not a deeply annoying overexplainer.

Several of you asked how it’s possible to get post-church lunch on the table in a timely fashion, and I really don’t have a great answer to that question because, well, I’ve only done the big Sunday dinner thing twice. I do know, though, that whenever I cook for a crowd (I’ve bored you with those details already), the key is to do as much as possible ahead of time. Use the crockpot whenever you can. Buy a dessert at the bakery or put together something really simple the night before (brownies from a box, vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, the end). And setting the timer on the oven is a great idea, only it doesn’t work for me because the clock on our oven is broken, thus rendering the timer feature completely useless.

But if it did work, well, you know, ACES.

Anyway, after I read y’all’s comments yesterday, I made a quick list of meals (besides the classic crockpot roast, carrots and potatoes) that would be fairly easy to pull off after church. They’ll require a little Saturday night prep, but now that we can’t all sit around and watch “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island,” what else do we have to do since Captain Stubing and Tattoo are nothing but a faint (albeit precious) memory? Plus, the payoff of the prep time is all manner of Sunday dinner deliciousness. Not to mention fellowship. Hallelujah.

Chicken Divan – I only use 1 can of cream of chicken but add a little more mayonnaise than this recipe calls for, and I also like to use a little curry powder. But the basic premise is the same. I’d buy a rotisserie chicken, assemble the dish on Saturday night, then pop it in the oven as soon as we got home from church. Serve with salad and rolls. Sometimes Mama would serve this with fresh fruit and poppyseed dressing, and we were all blessed beyond measure as a result.

Lasagna – Use your favorite recipe (I can’t find mine online) and assemble Saturday night. Put it in your oven when you leave for church and set the timer. Or make a yummy crockpot version that you can put together before you head to the church house. Serve with salad and French bread.

Chicken and Asparagus Casserole – Initially I was going to suggest chicken pie, but this chicken and asparagus dish is so pretty and festive and colorful. It’s great with just about any side dish, and if you make it the night before, it only takes 30 minutes for it to be ready for lunch. And truthfully, it takes me almost 30 minutes to get ready for Sunday dinner; those yoga pants are gonna jump on my person by themselves, now are they?

Crockpot Chicken & Dressing – If there’s any dish that brings out my inner Jerry Clower, it’s this one. This isn’t something my mama made when I was growing up, but it just tastes like the South to me. So good. And it begs for peas and turnip greens and maybe even a little okra on the side. TASTY.

Meatball Sandwiches – Melanie’s recipe is a favorite at our house. Make your meatballs the night before, then let them simmer in the crockpot while you’re at church or heat them up on the stove when you get home. Serve with potato salad that you made the night before (or that was lovingly prepared by your local Publix).

Eggplant Casserole – Don’t roll your eyes. Seriously. Because this is one of those dishes that might sound a little iffy but is SO, SO GOOD. You can serve it as a main course (Mama always put chopped ham in ours when it was a main course), or it’s a wonderful side with fried chicken (leave the chicken frying to the professionals at the Popeye’s or the Bojangle’s). Perfect with baked beans and rolls. Also a great reminder that we tend to forget about the eggplant, but the eggplant, it is enjoyable.

Pork Tenderloin – I don’t think there’s any cut of meat that I cook more for company. It soaks up marinade, cooks quickly, and falls into the category of “identifiable meat.” It’s great with potato casserole (make ahead, cook when you get home). I made cheese grits as a pork tenderloin side this past Sunday because I forgot to buy potatoes. And when I mentioned that I might just cook some white rice instead, Alex said, “THAT’S not the mama I know!” So cheese grits it was.

Chicken Cakes – Another great recipe of Mel’s. You could mix up the chicken cakes Saturday night, form them into patties, then quickly pan fry them after church on Sunday. Serve with sweet potato casserole and butterbeans. Then sign contentedly.

Spaghetti – Make sauce Saturday night. Cook noodles when you get home Sunday. Throw a little parmesan on the plate, grab a hunk of bread and you’re ready to roll.

Taco Salad – This is my all-time favorite simple meal. I brown a couple of pounds of ground beef with all the taco seasonings. I chop up a head of lettuce, open a bag of tortilla chips and unzip a package of flour tortillas. FANCY. Then I set out bowls of yummy toppings: grated cheese, black beans, tomatoes, sour cream, onions, Ranch dressing, queso dip, salsa, etc. People can either build their own salad or make nachos or make soft tacos. It’s even better if you use cute paper plates, because the clean-up is practically non-existent.

So. There you have it. And I know that there’s really nothing new under the Sunday dinner sun, but sometimes it’s good just to remember the options. Or, you know, you can always go out to eat. The important thing is to find the option that is most relaxing and recharging for you and your family.

All that being said, I will now return to my regular bloggy box. The box where I talk about bacon and Mississippi State sports and TV. And butter. And also mascara.

The end.

Sunday Lunch

When I was growing up, Sunday lunch was always a big deal. We didn’t go out to eat very much, so Mama always fixed a big ole meal after church. I remember roast with carrots and potatoes as a staple, but fried chicken, beef stroganoff, turkey and ham were also in the rotation – with lots of fresh vegetables on the side. And rolls. Always rolls. OH SWEET MERCY THE ROLLS.

If we weren’t eating at Mama and Daddy’s house on Sundays, it was usually because we were having a big family lunch at my aunt’s house. We did this more times than I can remember; my aunt would fix her meal and Mama would fix her meal and then we’d combine everything into a gigantor family potluck. When my grandparents were alive they’d join the fun, too, and my Mamaw Davis would bring a homemade chocolate pie or her homemade apple tarts or some other dessert that would make you weep by virtue of its sheer deliciousness. There was never a shortage of sweet tea or coffee, and after lunch the grown-ups would sit around the big table and visit while the kids ran around outside or walked down to the Jitney Jr. to buy some gum. Or maybe even some Bit-O-Honeys if we were feeling particularly crazy.

A piece of candy cost two cents, by the way. TWO CENTS. Which means that if you were in possession of a whole quarter, you could just about afford to send yourself into a post-candy sugar coma.

It was a simpler time.

And just so you know, now I’m all teary-eyed just from thinking about my Mamaw and Papaw Davis. WHEN DID MY BRAIN TURN INTO A HALLMARK COMMERCIAL?

For whatever reason, I’ve never really latched on to the Sunday lunch tradition since I’ve been the one doing the cooking. I cook all during the week, and occasionally I’ll make a big pot of red beans and rice or chili or something on Saturday night, but I typically leave Sunday lunch to the the experts at the restaurants. We don’t have family here, and we’re too far away from everybody to just hop over to my hometown for a Sunday meal, so eating out has been a pretty practical solution.

A few weeks ago – seemingly out of nowhere – I decided that I wanted to make a big ole Sunday lunch. Roast and carrots. Mashed potatoes. English peas. Homemade chocolate pudding. But since that much food is way too much food for three people, I texted my friend Leigh to see if she and her family wanted to join us. Leigh and her husband are originally from Mississippi, too – were even at Ole Miss the same time my brother was – and Leigh and I love to swap Southern stories. Hers are always the best.

Anyway, Leigh and her family came over for Sunday lunch a couple of weeks ago, and it was so much fun. They didn’t get to stay for long after we finished eating because we were under a WINTER STORM WARNING and there’s a small mountain in between our house and theirs, but I loved every single thing about having company on a Sunday. I loved using my pretty dishes, cleaning up afterwards, having some tasty leftovers for supper – the whole thing. It reminded me of how I grew up. And more than anything else, it was comforting to spend part of the afternoon with friends who feel like family.

Today is D’s birthday, and last week I thought that instead of cooking him a big birthday supper – which is what I normally do – I was going to cook him a big Sunday birthday lunch. Leigh and her family came over again, and I pulled out my favorite green dishes. We had pork tenderloin, cheese grits, squash casserole, butterbeans and rolls (OH HAVE MERCY THE ROLLS). I fixed D’s favorite tres leches cake for dessert. After we ate Leigh and I sat at the dining room table and drank coffee while the fellas went into the den and talked about electronics and movies and whatnot.

When we finally got up to start tackling the dishes, we realized it was 3:30 and couldn’t believe it. We’d spent over two hours talking about everything and nothing: the sermon we heard this morning, our young’uns, our ish-ahs, our TV habits, and so much more. There’s just something about eating a meal together in the middle of the day – with a whole big afternoon stretching out before you – that slows down the pace of life a little bit. And I’m not exactly sure why it’s taken me thirteen and a half years of marriage to figure that out.

After our company left and I loaded the last of the plates into the dishwasher, I walked into the den where D was in the process of rescuing some soldiers from a rogue alien army on the Xbox, and I made a proclamation.

“THAT,” I said, “was DELIGHTFUL. And I think from here on out – at least a couple of times a month – I’m going to make a big ole lunch on Sundays, and we’ll just invite whoever comes to mind.”

“I think that sounds great,” he said.

And so that’s our plan.

What about y’all? Do you go out to lunch on Sundays? Or do you cook a big meal? Do you have people over? Do you get together with your extended family? Do you remember the Sunday lunch traditions from your childhood? I’m strangely curious.

And if you feel led to share any favorite menu ideas, well, you just go right ahead.