A Little Table Lore

I’ve been lucky to be invited to a lot of tables over the years: Wednesday night dinners, the big gatherings my uncle hosted that always felt open and unhurried, and the tables of families who made space for me and treated me like one of their own. Those tables mattered. They taught me what it feels like to be welcomed, fed, and counted without needing a reason.

So we always assume one extra seat. The table fits eight (including us), but someone cancels, someone brings a friend, or someone decides last minute they’re in. Better to squeeze than let a place go unused.

Seven has stuck with us, too. In Persian culture, it’s tied to renewal and tradition, most clearly seen in the haft-sin table set for Nowruz. In Polish tradition, an empty seat is often left at the table during the holidays, meant for someone who couldn’t make it or someone unexpected.

Also… we live at 77 Seventh Avenue. So there you have it: Table Seven.