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In my Italian American family, dinner is an endurance sport. Asking for thirds is smiled upon—in fact, nothing will endear you to us faster. But please be forewarned that the pasta dish you’ve just been handed is but one in a long line of courses: It will be followed by heartier mains. You should expect to spend at least three hours at the table. And don’t even think about glancing at your phone.
These customs all get supercharged during the Feast of the Seven Fishes, an epic dinner party we celebrate every Christmas Eve. Depending on which corner of the internet you believe, the festivities originated either on the seafood-rich shores of Southern Italy or among 19th-century immigrants to the United States. The Feast gathered steam Stateside, paving the way for my food-obsessed family to outdo themselves year after year.
By definition, Feast of the Seven Fishes menus feature seven distinct types of seafood—they needn’t be actual scales-and-fins fish, but they must come from the sea. And, while a person certainly could put squid, mussels, and chopped-up fillets into a stew to knock out three of the required fishes, where’s the sport in that? Instead, my insane-but-lovable relatives might nibble on shrimp cocktail and tender scallops wrapped in prosciutto, while my mother (and only my mother—it’s unwise to enter her kitchen and offer to “helpâ€) puts the finishing touches on the rest of the meal. As the Feast marches on, we might tuck into bowls of spicy squid pasta and schmear dairy-rich salt cod on crostini.
The grand finale is always Campari-red steamed whole lobsters accompanied by never-ending bowls of melted butter. We all cheerfully tie novelty plastic bibs over our holiday finery before we crack into the claws, a sound as profoundly reminiscent of Christmas to me as carols or sleigh bells.
The rest of the menu evolves as trends change, and friends, roommates, partners, and neighbors who have no place else to be on December 24th join the party. You don’t actually have to be related to anyone at my family’s table to be welcomed into the fold. So long as you’re game to spend a few hours elbows deep in seafood—and you enthusiastically compliment my mom’s cooking throughout—consider your seat reserved.
The best part of the Feast of the Seven Fishes is that anyone with an appetite for seafood can make the tradition their own. You don’t have to be Italian or Italian American. You don’t even have to celebrate Christmas! You just have to cook way too much food for the people you care about. But, if cooking seven recipes feels untenable, make it a potluck: Assign one type of seafood to each of seven guests. (It’ll be just like that episode of The Bear but with way less intergenerational trauma.)
Theories abound about the significance of seafood for people of Italian descent or why the number seven carries so much importance. But for me, the importance of the Feast of the Seven Fishes is prioritizing whomever you consider family. From the first bite of crab toast to the last pignoli cookie crumb, this meal demands an investment of time and attention. In our perennially overscheduled lives, nothing feels more meaningful than carving out a few hours to eat, celebrate, and connect with our nearest and dearest—ideally, while wearing a plastic bib with a cartoon lobster on it.