Wendy, a project manager from New Jersey, and Michael, a vice president of a communications consulting firm from Philadelphia, met on Hinge, where for the first (and last) time in her life, Wendy messaged him first. Sparks immediately flew over drinks at Echo Park in Shaw for their first date one Tuesday night. Three years later, Michael proposed one snowy morning while the pair were vacationing in Park City.
For their wedding day, the grooms say they started the planning on very different pages: Josh loves a crowd and the spotlight and would have invited everyone in his contacts list, they say, whereas John would have been happy to elope, and wanted an intimate vibe. Ultimately they found middle ground, they say, compromising with a celebration size-110 guests-that suited them both.
It's no coincidence that my last name, Mesa, translates to "table." I believe I was born to work in the hospitality industry, and my passion for hosting people was nurtured from a young age. Growing up in the Dominican Republic with my maternal grandparents not only introduced me to an immaculate home but also a beautifully decorated dining table. My grandmother took pride in creating bright floral arrangements, polishing silverware, and making name cards with magic markers.
In our family, we spend more time and effort planning our holiday food than any other aspect of the season. Not only do we love to eat, but we also carefully curate our sense of home and family by sharing food. And during our holiday meals, we will be serving memories with a side of nostalgia. Food is memory Are there particular foods that you simply must have during the holidays?
Mr Brownlow's house is the archetype for a place that is safe, which I think is what everybody wants. It had a lasting impression on me and I have probably tried to make a Mr Brownlow's house in my own life somewhere to run back to. I like to watch that every Christmas and force the children and grandchildren to watch too.
The culinary essence of the festive season is a kind of sanctioned chaos. Never mind that, from one angle, Christmas is mostly just rigidly observed collective food traditions and grown adults dying on the hill of whether yorkshire puddings should be served with turkey. I don't think I ever really feel that warming yuletide rush until I have turned a disparate assemblage of leftovers into what, to the casual observer,
These moments can make the work more visible, but they are not the only times it shows up. Behind all this joy and love is a lot of work. That is why being open about what is required and asking for help can be important. You can still have things the way you want them; you do not, however, have to do them all on your own.
Christmas lunch in my family is about as traditional as it comes, and is pretty much the same every year no matter who's house we're at (including at least three monumental rows about things that happened years ago). Everyone chips in, too, even the kids well, they've got to earn their dinner somehow. Rather than shooing them off to watch cartoons while the adults do all the work, we make sure they're hands-on in the kitchen alongside us, especially with the annual yule log.
When I figured out that my son would be born in December, I was instantly worried that he'd deal with having his birthday overshadowed by the season. Luckily, over the years, my son developed a different attitude and began to think of Christmas as something for him. But I have still always been careful to protect his birthday as a separate festivity.
We are two weeks out from Christmas, which means that all across the land couples are at each other's throats. Christmas truly is the season of giving - giving your other half massive amounts of shit. The pre-Christmas fights range from the deeply inconsequential (what date to actually put up the tree) to the existential (why do we have to have three separate meats for the Christmas dinner?) to the make-or-break-a-marriage type (whose family gets the Christmas morning and whose family gets the afternoon).
From keeping your purse off the floor to skipping chicken on New Year's Day, these family superstitions didn't fade - they stuck. Call them cultural traditions, old wives' tales, or just "I'm not risking it." They promise good luck, ward off "the devil," and trace how beliefs travel from grandparents to Gen Z'ers. As bizarre as some of them sound, we keep them for the same reason we keep family recipes: they were handed down with love, warnings, and a little drama.
Growing up, I always envied the kids who built gingerbread houses at home. My family and I rarely baked together in Brooklyn: Like many Asian diaspora families, we stored pots and pans (and our rice cooker!) in the oven. When I became a mom, I made sure my son got to experience some holiday magic as defined by American culture. We started with store-bought kits from Whole Foods and Trader Joe's.
As a mom of six, Christmas used to feel like a pressure cooker. Every year, I tried to create the "perfect" holiday - the ideal gifts, the matching pajamas, the Instagram-worthy stockings. I spent December weekends navigating store aisles, scrolling for deals, or stressing that I wasn't doing enough. By the time Christmas morning finally came, I was exhausted, financially stretched, and secretly relieved when it was all over.
I was coming up out of the subway the other day when a man spoke to me from behind. He complimented me on my outfit and then looked at me. He remarked that he had thought I was someone else a prominent woman in our city. It was a compliment in that regard, but a little jarring, too. This woman is much larger than I am at least I think so.
No matter what region of the country you live in, you'll find a super cool Yule installation to love on our list. Some bring the Christmas cheer to horticultural attractions, like Brookgreen and Longwood Gardens, others set big cities ablaze in millions of walk-through or drive-through lights (including Austin and Las Vegas). And of course, there are plenty of charming small towns that go all out with seasonal displays (hellllooo Leavenworth, Washington).
My late mother made a special Christmas cookie that required tedious decorating, considering each person's personal preference for toppings, and giving them as gifts to family and friends. They always had a place of honor on our family Christmas table. When she was no longer able, she gave me the cookie cutter, and my daughters and I took over the family tradition. It takes the three of us several days to make, bake, decorate, package and mail cookies to family members around the country.
Growing up in a Mexican household, it never truly felt like the holidays until my abuela, very aptly, broke out the yellow box of Abuelita chocolate from the tiny cupboard next to the stove. My family and I would decorate the Christmas tree, laughing and reminiscing over handmade ornaments. Then we'd soak up the beauty of the silvery lights in the sala, warming our palms with mismatched tazas of chocolate.
I wouldn't say I had a particularly English upbringing, but there were two things my mum held on to fiercely when it came to her children celebrating cultural holidays. Of the utmost importance was Christmas, of course, but Pancake Day came a close second. I'm not really sure why this day mattered so much, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's to do with eating pancakes for dinner, lovingly doused in lemon and sugar.
You don't have to have a lot of seasonal decorations or decorate every corner to make your home feel magical. Instead, create a few pretty little moments of charm-places that make you smile every time you walk by. Display intentional pieces that will feel nostalgic and memorable: a charming Christmas village (I'm smitten with my new gingerbread houses), a bowl of vintage ornaments, even Christmas cards from loved ones displayed on a string with little clothespins,
When the pandemic hit and the US went into lockdown, Garten inspired me to finally improve my skills in the kitchen. And when I briefly moved back in with my parents, they were more than happy to sample my creations. It's since become a tradition, and now I whip up new "Barefoot Contessa" dishes for my parents every time I visit.
As September begins, legions of Californians have just wound up their summer travels, which often follow family traditions. Frequently there are lakes involved. Or islands. Or a national park.
We made a conscious decision to build a life filled with adventure and presence while raising our children. We wanted our kids to experience the richness of life in the now, not in some distant "someday" that may never come. We turned travel sports into family adventures We explored local diners, quirky museums, vintage ice rinks, and small-town treasures. Each trip became a story. And somewhere between roadside doughnut shops and freezing-cold bleachers, we realized we weren't just watching games, we were building core memories.
Barbecues would always start with an impromptu announcement at the table after Sunday morning family breakfast. Mum would begrudgingly agree, knowing the mess my dad can produce in about 20 minutes.
My grandmother had a remarkable ability to create something cozy and plentiful with very little on hand, showing the importance of resourcefulness in meal preparation.
