Growing up, Sunday always meant dinner at Poppy and Auntie's. We would walk in the front door and the first smells of dinner preparations would hit us. My brother and I would try to guess what the meal would be. We had no other choice but to guess because daring to enter the kitchen meant dodging flying spoons and being yelled at to get out. Sunday dinner was a sacred ritual and we all had our place - Poppy in the kitchen and the rest of us in the living room. Eventually my mom or uncle would brave the trip in order to bring us all drinks - ginger ale for the kids and jug wine or manhattans for the adults.
Dinner, of course, always began with appetizers. Poppy had a chip and dip set that, if it was out, signaled potato chips and onion dip. On special occasions it might contain cocktail sauce and the bowl would be rimmed with shrimp, but that was rare. I am now the proud possessor of that chip and dip set. Poppy would usually put out his own stumbanad. Don't ask me the real spelling because I have no idea, I just spell it like I say it. Just think Italian giardiniera or sottaceti, but Poppy's blows those right out of the water. His was green olives (pit still in), carrots, and celery. It would be so hot after a few pieces it would make your ears leak. That stuff was the best. There would be other offerings on the table, but those are the two staples that are ingrained in my mind.
After about an hour we would finally be allowed into the dining room. Dinner could be anything, but roasted chicken drumsticks and thighs with green olives were pretty standard and so was spaghetti with sausage and meatballs. One of my favorites was blue crab. Poppy would do his own crabbing, so if he brought in a good haul, to the dinner table it went. But, the hands down whole family favorite was gnocchi. Poppy made his own - potato, flour, and egg - and it was the best. We referred to them as "sinkers" because that is what they did - they sunk to the bottom of the serving bowl and they sunk to the bottom of your stomach. Each piece was amazing pasta perfection.
At our largest, there were 10 of us around a table that really could only seat 6 adults comfortably. My cousin and I would play the poking game until someone yelled at us. The goal would be to poke in just the right spot that it made other person yell and fall out of her seat. I can't imagine why that was viewed as disruptive! I always took extra olives from the salad for the sole purpose of putting them on my fingers. After an hour or so of dinner table chaos we went back to the living room where more chaos ensued. There would be toys and games pulled out of every corner, a couple of us might even disappear to my uncle's old bedroom to color at his desk. Finally one adult would have had enough and plastic sandwich bags would get pulled out. Oh yes, no trip to Poppy's would be complete without a bag of candy for the road.
On Poppy's mantle were two coveted candy dishes - one with M&M's, the other with Hershey's Kisses. We would dive for those things like rats to cheese. Our parents judged the size of the bag to make sure none of us would get too much of a sugar rush before bed. Even as adults, walking in there we made a beeline for those candy dishes. Now, I am the possessor of the Hershey's dish (at the moment only filled with mints) and, if I remember correctly, my cousin - the dinner table partner in crime - has the M&M's dish.
So that was Sunday, our Sunday until we were all teenagers and making dinner for us all became too much. But, Sunday remained visit day with dinner downgraded to just snacks and the time went from 4 PM to 11 AM. Even after I moved away, if I was at my mom's on a Sunday I would accompany her to Poppy's. Sunday, in my mind, will always be dinner at Poppy's - dinner together, dinner with family. That is its definition. That is Sunday's in the kitchen.
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