Did anyone else ever watch the British sit-com Friday Night Dinners? G and I watched it almost religiously over its far too short lifespan and it never disappointed. However, as well as being funny, it always made me feel that the Jewish tradition of a Friday Night Dinner, full of ritual and warmth would be a lovely tradition to have. It’s reflected in the show as well, that despite their gripes and the incessant bickering between the brothers (which makes the show) they also have traditions they can’t fathom not being part of their Friday night ritual. Who gets the best bit of the Challah? Who manages to pinch some of mum’s signature dish before it gets to the table? Who dares to sit in someone else’s spot at the table? Desperately impractical as an idea for most modern families, especially those with family as far flung as G’s and mine but a lovely idea all the same. We never did it growing up, our family being a mix of all sorts of beliefs and doubts that the only bastions of my father’s Judaism were the “big holidays”. Passover meal remains etched in my food nostalgia bank and I can sometimes still smell the scent of candles on Yom Kippur with my grandmother making some mysterious hand gestures over them which I’m certain to this day she made up when she first had to do it and just kept on doing the same way year after year. So, it was with a certain zeal that I approached hosting one for the first time. Some of our very dear friends are getting married this year and she has both recently converted to Judaism and returned from the US – to celebrate both we had them round and the only day that worked was a Friday. So, that’s how I ended up getting a little excited and going overboard.