A NEW MANIFESTO ON FAMILY MEALS

You're allowed to eat what feels right to your body. Five Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Style Family Meals, plus a please-all pasta recipe from Jenny Rosenstrach's new book.

Hi friends!

I’ve missed you. A great deal has happened since I last wrote to you in early August, stuff, mostly, we’ll have to get back to. Something more urgent is on the table.

Last week, my kids went back to school—high school for my big girl and fourth for my baby. I spent the first hour of my adult freedom mourning our sweet summer together, hiking, having my first solo breakfast in 72 days, and luxuriating over quiet lunches while sifting through an entire summer of emails.

If anyone was dragging their feet back to school, it’s not my kids. I am a summer mama through and through. I love the sun and summer routines. I love the pool/beach/lake/sea or any form of swim. And most of all, I love having my kids close. I am the best me I can be in the summer.

We’ve already turned a sharp corner into the flurry of fall—the games, practices, and homework—and with it, a need for cozy, familiar rituals like family meals. Before we left for our long trip (Vienna, Hungary, and Croatia—details soon), I chatted with a peer, cookbook author, and fellow Substacker

Nicki Sizemore

in her podcast Mind, Body, Spirit, Food about our back-to-school routines, lunch packing, and family meals. I’ve been thinking about our conversation ever since. We touched on many subjects related to feeding families, and it’s worth a listen.

During our chat, we discovered that not only do both our kids have very distinctive and different (from their siblings) dietary needs and wishes, but also that Nicki and I do things almost completely differently when it comes to food and family meals—despite us both being cookbook authors with a background in food and nutrition, with kids the same age and with roughly the same standards around the foods we buy and serve. That is a (very) long way of saying:

There’s no right or wrong way to do family meals.

My biggest dinnertime challenge is that almost everyone in my family eats and craves something different, specifically at dinner. We have one (adult) pescatarian, one kiddo who eats fish and sometimes chicken, and one who loves steak. We can easily get around this issue at breakfast and lunch (we’re big yogurt and berry people; everyone loves pancakes and waffles, and eggs do wonders to bridge the gap). Luckily, everyone here loves soup, all kinds of grains, and vegetables, but I'm spent on solving the protein issue by about the third dinner each week.

Maybe that (or some form of dinnertime puzzle) is the reality in your house, too?

While enjoying the luxury of vacation restaurant meals (i.e., everyone orders what they like—with no giant dish pile aftermath!), feeling the ease and laughter around the table each night, I started to imagine a whole year where everyone in the family can be nourished on something they crave and, more importantly, exactly the kinds of foods that make their bodies shine.

It got me thinking: If we make only one strict rule in our house around family meals this year (and eating in our social circles in general—the nuclear family, the larger family, and any friends you may regularly share meals or holidays with), it is this:

You’re allowed to eat what feels good to your body, even when someone who loves you disagrees.

I know, skeptics might say this rule feels slippery. Or maybe that sounds nice in theory, but how? No parent wants to be a short-order cook. And what about manners and waste? Won’t kids eat sweets or, in some cases, white pasta with butter all the time?

We’ll get to all that. For now, let’s start with the why.

Let’s back up to our childhoods: I was a kid who knew what I wanted and needed to eat to feel good. Like my son, I craved fresh fruits and dairy (milk, cheese) and delighted in most vegetables— raw or cooked. I liked some proteins, but not many (eggs, yes! Chicken was fine, though not a favorite, but I wouldn’t touch a burger or meatball until I was almost 25). I loved Dad’s juicy grilled steak, and I especially craved shrimp and lobster, obscure and hard to come by for a land-locked midwestern kid in the 90s (I still adore both). And then there were desserts. I loved sweets—a lot.

My parents neither forced particular food on us nor withheld anything delicious. My mom served classic midwestern meals: grilled chicken, pork chops, meatloaf, and frozen white fish in equal measure, and every kind of starch, vegetable, and sweet, usually homemade. With four kids and plenty of mouths to feed, there was little drama if we passed on something. Still, no one ever went hungry, and very little went to waste (in big families, there is always someone to finish the plate, usually Dad). I wasn’t labeled picky or difficult; probably no one even noticed when I ate around my meatloaf or skipped on burgers. I was a healthy, robust kid.

Over time, I’ve been able to cater to my quiet peculiarities—I love eggs but won’t eat them if they are even the slightest bit overcooked. I like all vegetables al dente, except green beans, which I prefer buttery and melted, the southern way. I eat peppers except for green ones. I avoid nightshades, except in peak summer. I love all fish and seafood but it needs to be ultra fresh and just cooked through. Bananas must be just ripe, devoid of any tannins (the bitter flavor on green bananas), yet with zero brown spots. I still love desserts, but I am extremely discerning about pastries, and I find most baked goods (except my own) too sweet.

Do I sound like a picky toddler? Yes.

Subtly, without making any grand declarations, I chose a career and a partner (who doesn’t cook) that gives me nearly total control over what I eat. But this is not true for most kids and even some adults in family homes. You’ll eat what I made, and you’ll like it, I often want to say.

And because it’s our job to raise and nurture them (the kids, that is), and maybe because many families are smaller and there are more eyes on fewer kids, we can easily hyper-fixate on what they eat and don’t eat, even though maybe these peculiarities are their bodies’ way of saying what’s right for them.

Take my daughter, for example. From a young age, Greta would report how different foods made her feel within an hour or so of eating. She ate little to no meat in our then mostly vegetarian household until, at about age 4, she asked for a bite of her pre-school friend’s burger and loved it. Suddenly, Greta was wild for beef (mostly steak), a phenomenon that lasted only a year. Meanwhile, her doctors remarked on her remarkable iron levels, whether she ate beans or beef.

For the next five years, she ate meat on occasion (along with her brother and me) until age 10, when she decided she would only eat fish and tofu, like her dad. By age 12, when we lived in Hungary, she added chicken (her Nagymama cooks delicious Chicken Paprikas—who could resist?), and just this past week, on the cusp of 14, she told me that if a grass-fed burger sounds like what her body needs, once in a while, she may eat it.

This makes sense. Her body and brain are constantly growing and changing, along with her needs and preferences. Likewise, so is her understanding of the world, her body, her biology, and the ethics and ethos around food production. This is a valuable and valid journey for her—and all kids. After all, eventually, we won’t be there to feed them. They have to know how it all works.

For the most part, we listen and honor all of this. But as parents and meal providers in our home, it can feel impossible to keep up with our kids' preferences. Parents are tasked with guiding and having opinions on what their kids eat, from the first foods onward. We generally procure, pay for, and prepare what goes on their plates well into their teen years. It’s sometimes a chore and a dizzying one at times.

But if we, as adults, have peculiarities about our food choices, is it so surprising that our kids do? And, doesn’t it stand to reason that sometimes their preferences might be their body trying to tell them something we should teach them to listen to?

Here’s a good example: Once, when I was away on a day trip, my then very young son told my husband that a hot dog—his favorite food du jour that month— didn’t feel right in his belly. Knowing that our boy often prefers fruits, vegetables, and other fresh/raw foods over protein (and after years of hearing me taunt him with, “Eat your protein!”), Andras encouraged him to eat it anyway. Within an hour, he was violently ill (and hasn’t returned to his previous enthusiasm for hot dogs since).

Unknown to my husband, I bought uncured and uncooked organic hot dogs. Andras, a longtime vegetarian, had never cooked meat in his life. The hot dog he served him, cooked in a pan on the stove until warm, was most likely undercooked. Mátyás’s body told him this was dangerous for him, but at that moment, a well-meaning, loving dad pulled the parental override, as parents (including me) often do.

It’s hard to trust kids about things we often know more about. But many times, kids instinctively know what the right foods are for them. Yes, we must keep introducing foods to them in safe spaces and safe ways (it’s often said a child needs three exposures before considering a new food or texture—like broccoli— familiar enough to like it)). But we parents—including me—can go too far.

This oversight from parents and even peers often continues right up through adulthood. It is a parent's nature to meddle and fuss. Usually, it’s cloaked in love, but not always, as can be the case in our social lives as teenagers and young adults. At a meal with a table of peers, when our kids (or even we) hold to our convictions, it can sound like: “You’re no fun” if you pass on dessert or “Come on, one glass of wine won’t hurt!" even though you know alcohol affects your much-needed sleep.

As benign and playful as these comments seem, everyone should be allowed to trust their bodies about what’s right for them.

Years ago, when we lived in New York City, we often served a Thanksgiving meal to the homeless in a shelter near our church as a family before sitting down to our own. One year, my then four-year-old daughter and I noticed that the guests were impressively choosy about the portion size, the foods they wanted, and what foods touched one another on their plates.

A little sponge to the world, she voiced what I was thinking: “It’s interesting that everyone is so picky. Aren’t they hungry?” Her innocent question got me to think it through for myself before answering. When I did, here’s what I said:

“All humans crave the dignity to be able to make their own decisions about what goes on and into their bodies.”

Yes, even toddlers. We see preferences forming in humans from the earliest age. Even babies just learning to eat solids will tell you without words how they feel about food. Child psychologists explore how consent over food choices (spitting out food, closing the lips tightly, or refusing to eat) is one of our first means of autonomy, which later gives way to confident decision-making about what to wear, whether to give or receive a hug, and other early important consent issues.

Ok, but what about manners?

This one’s slippery, too. There’s a fine line between eating what your body tells you is right for you and disrespecting the time, effort, and energy that goes into a meal prepared by a parent, grandparent, or friend. My kids are not allowed to call anything gross at the table or be rude or disrespectful about food offered to them by either their parents or grandparents. They are allowed, at any point, to say “no thank you” or “my body tells me that’s not right for me right now.” Ideally, it ends there.

Of course, we’ve evolved to this after years of trial and error and no small amount of frustration. For years, Mátyás regularly latched onto one food, like my soppressata meatballs, and wanted nothing else for two weeks. Then, in the third week, he’d claim to hate them. When I frowned or showed disappointment, he learned from watching others that two words granted exclusion from certain foods without questions: “I’m allergic.”

Suddenly, he was “allergic” to meatballs, pancakes, muffins, and other specific foods (foods he now, thankfully, loves). Kids are clever and quick learners. He never returned to meatballs, but he will eat a steak with abandon!

Keeping cool in these situations is not easy, but I keep working at it. Since it’s our first day back after some time, I won’t get into the science behind food preferences. Still, there’s evidence to support that there’s a sliding scale between an allergy, a food sensitivity, and a food aversion. We all live somewhere on the spectrum, whether we voice it that way or not.

In short, every human body is different. What works for mine is not right for anyone else unless they decide it is.

The New Family Dinner Manifesto takes a moment for autonomy and trust—it assumes we believe someone when they say a food doesn’t sit well with them. We believe our children when they say they are still hungry and need a little more or when they say they are full even when there is still food on the plate.

We don’t have to judge (inwardly or outwardly) our child, or our spouses, siblings, elder parents, grown children or friends’ decisions to avoid gluten, obtain from sugar or alcohol, not eat meat, to carb-load or avoid all carbs, or eat high or low on the food chain.

Welcome! This letter wouldn’t be possible without YOU! Thank you for being here + enormous thanks to all who choose to support my work with a paid subscription.

So how does this work in a house full of different-style eaters? I have never and will never advocate for hyper-catered family meals, even if there are multiple special diets and preferences in one household. No short-order cooking, please. For sure, this manifesto requires everyone to chip in; my kids know that. Having choices is a luxury, one that takes effort and investment—and importantly, gratitude.

One way we’re making this work in our home is by doing more DIY, Choose-Your Own-Adventure Dinners now that my kids are bigger. It involves this mom doing some prep on most days while/after kids help me pack lunches or about an hour before dinner. It means every family member needs to help with one or more of the following each day:

• Setting the table

• Washing, peeling, and chopping one to two vegetables for toppings and fillers

• Setting out and putting back away sauces, dressings, and condiments before and after meals

So far, it’s working. Here are the SIX TEMPLATES for Choose-Your Own-Adventure Dinners we’ve been using for the last 10 days that repeat and remix well. The top two are gluten-free friendly (indicated by *gf friendly), and all of them can flex for meat lovers, pescatarians, and vegetarians alike:

SALAD BAR (+ PROTEIN)

One of my daughter’s goals for this school year was to eat more salads, so we invested in a six-compartment, salad-bar-style container with a snap lid that fits right into the slimmest shelf in our fridge (here’s a similar 8-compartment style). Even if I mostly load it with the components for a Greek salad (chopped romaine, green or black olives, feta, cucumbers, tomatoes, red onions), swapping in a few different proteins from day-to-day (leftover chicken schnitzel, a Greekish gyro-inspired meatballs, or tinned fish for the pescatarians) each person’s plate looks a little different each night. We’ve had Salad Bar (+ Protein) 4 times for dinners and twice for weekend lunch so far with every person clearing their plate and zero waste: a win! *(gf friendly)

RICE BOWLS

Monday night, I threw 3 cups of sushi rice in the rice cooker and slow-baked a side of salmon slathered with our favorite Japanese BBQ sauce (10 minutes prep and 20 minutes cook time). Meanwhile, the kids sliced cucumbers, avocados, and our favorite seaweed snacks so everyone could load their warm rice with their toppings of choice. Other toppings: kimchi, tinned fish, seared tofu, soy sauce, toasted sesame oil, sesame seeds, or soft-boiled or fried eggs for mix-and-match toppings. (I turned the leftover salmon into Salmon Rillettes, which we ate on toast with fried eggs the next day). *(gf friendly)

STUFFED CREPES, (OR SWEET POTATOES)

In Hungary, we eat Palacsinta or rolled Hungarian pancakes nearly every day for a treat, stuffed with preserves or sweetened farmer’s cheese. Now that I’ve gotten efficient at making them (we’ve had them four times in two weeks), I’ve started stuffing them with savories, too—the French way. Our favorite from this week: Folded palacsinta stuffed with shredded gruyere, a sliver of smoked salmon, topped with fresh avocado and flaky salt. Also try: ham and eggs, ham and cheese, or spinach and cheese. This same principle works with baked sweet potatoes—a delicious blank canvas that can be filled with everyone’s favorite thing.

PIZZA

My Sicilian-style sheet Pan Pizza is perfect for dividing into thirds, fourths, or sixths (depending on your family size) and filling with DIY toppings. For a thicker, focaccia-style pizza, squish the dough into a 9 x 13 pan and layer with anything from tomatoes to onions, peppers, pepperoni, anchovies, olives, broccoli, mozzarella, parm, and red sauce all over. Cut each person’s personalized pizza off the whole with kitchen sheers and serve warm.

PASTA

Our favorite way to solve the dinner puzzle is a please-all pasta. I make a classic Cacio e Pepe for my family about once a week—a meal everyone heartily gobbles up. In the same slithering delicious vien is

Jenny Rosenstrach

’s Pasta with Broccoli Pesto from her new book, The Weekday Vegetarian’s Get Simple (all Jenny’s books are a home run; she is the master at family rituals and solving meal puzzles. You can trust Jenny). This recipe coats your favorite noodle in a silky pesto-esque broccoli sauce for an all-in-one flexitarian meal we all eat with abandon. Both these sauces are simple enough to make on the same night, in two separate pots, (some for now, some for later) so your crew can chose Cacio or Pesto, or a little helping of each—heaped side-by-side in shallow bowls.

Jenny was super generous to share her recipe below for all of you here. She even gives you tips on how to veganize it, in case you have that wild card to consider in your mix.

Skip ahead for those details, but first, let’s make this a discussion we can all learn from: I would love to hear how your parents handled food autonomy in your home growing up and what that felt like for you as a kid. How do you handle this topic as a parent now (if you are a parent), and is your current approach working for your family? And, what are your thoughts on my New Family Meal Manifesto? Maybe we can flesh out any blind spots and brainstorm a few more Choose-Your Own-Adventure Family Dinners together.

Please share your ideas in the comments below! I’ll be back soon to share more from our trip.

In the meantime, it’s good to be back, and extra big loving thanks to those paid subscribers who stuck it out with me while I was away.

xx

Sarah

Jenny Rosenstrach’s Pasta with Broccoli Pesto

Reprinted with permission from The Weekday Vegetarians Get Simple by

Jenny Rosenstrach

Here is one of those sneaky recipes that is actually many recipes in one. After discovering broccoli pesto, you’ll never not see the potential for a vegetable to be pureed with olive oil and used as the starting point for indulgent, vegan sauces. Broccoli is the logical vegetable to teach you this technique because it’s so vibrant and flavorful, but I’ve applied this same method to cauliflower, squash, and artichokes with great success. I like that the entire recipe happens in one pot (plus one blender) and that the pasta boils in the same water as the broccoli.

Kosher salt

5 cups roughly cut broccoli, including stalks (from 1 large head)

½ cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling

1 garlic clove, pressed

3 scallions, white and lightgreen

parts only, roughly chopped

1⁄3 cup pine nuts

1⁄3 cup freshly grated

Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1 pound pasta (I like spaghetti or fettuccine, but any pasta will work)

Red pepper flakes, for serving

1. Bring a large pot of salted water (at least 10 cups) to a boil. Add the broccoli and boil gently for 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, scoop out about one-third of the broccoli and set aside on a cutting board to cool, then chop finely. Continue to gently boil the remaining broccoli for another minute. Turn off the heat, scoop out ¼ cup of the broccoli water, then using a slotted spoon, scoop out the remaining broccoli and add it straight into a blender. (Excess water is ok.)

2. To the blender, add the olive oil, garlic, scallions, pine nuts, Parmesan, lemon juice, 1 or 2 tablespoons of the reserved broccoli water, and salt and pepper. Blend until emulsified and saucy (you want it to be easily pourable—thinner than a milkshake) using more broccoli water as needed.

3. Bring the pot of broccoli water back to a boil. Add the pasta and cook to al dente according to the package directions. If you’ve used up your reserved broccoli water, scoop out another ¼ cup of pasta water and set aside. Drain the pasta, drizzling in a little olive oil to prevent sticking. Return the pasta to the pot and toss in the pesto until it coats the pasta but doesn’t look gloppy. (Use a drizzle of pasta water if needed.) Serve with red pepper flakes, the reserved chopped broccoli, and more Parmesan.

*To veganize: Omit the Parm and add 3 tablespoons nutritional yeast when you blend

QUICK CLEANUP | UNDER 30 MINUTES

SERVES 4

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“The Weekday Vegetarians Get Simple” Copyright © 2024 by Jenny Rosenstrach. Photographs copyright © 2024 by Christine Han. Published by Clarkson Potter, an imprint of Crown Publishing Group.”