Five years ago, I moved back to Chicago after three years in Mexico City. I’d lived here before, but in my absence, my friend group had shifted. Some had moved away; others had drifted. Then the pandemic struck, I had a baby and my social life took a real nosedive. I longed for community and fun. Instead, I found myself scrolling Instagram, pining over photos of parties with gorgeous spreads of food, people lounging on couches and witty conversation. (Yes, I conjured all that from a single image; I’ve got a vivid imagination.)
For a while, I waited for an invitation to such an event to appear magically. When it didn’t, I remembered something my Grandma Eileen used to say: “Always host, honey.” In her honor, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I looked at my calendar; it was March, and Purim was around the corner.
Past Purim celebrations usually fell into two categories: kid-centric carnivals or getting too tipsy at a Megillah reading. I wanted something different. I decided to pay homage to Queen Esther — the original girl’s girl — by hosting a night for friends to bake hamantaschen. I learned to make them from Grandma Eileen (a sage, really), who baked them annually with her friends from the synagogue. Her dough was rich with butter and brightened with orange zest; she’d fill them with prune and walnut or poppyseed while catching up with her gals around the kitchen table.
I went for that same vibe. What started as a small gathering in my living room to stave off loneliness slowly took on a life of its own. Each year, more women came. Friends brought friends. Someone always showed up with a new filling or a family recipe to try. There was wine, a solid playlist and easy conversation.
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Now, it’s something I look forward to every year. The guest list gets bigger, the fillings more extravagant and the conversation deeper as the women reconvene. Somewhere between the flour-covered countertops and the laughter, I realized I had accidentally rebuilt a tradition. Turns out, when my grandma told me to throw the party I wanted to attend, she wasn’t giving hosting advice — she was teaching me how to build community.
The party is nothing fancy, and that’s how I like it. All you need is enough dough for the group — I usually prep one batch for every two guests — and the invite is clear: B.Y.O.F. (Bring Your Own Filling). As I’ve become more of a professional at hosting this, I’ve picked up a few tricks: I cover the countertops in parchment paper for easy cleanup and pre-cut the dough rounds so they’re ready to go. I also keep small bowls of egg wash at every station to ensure the corners actually stay pinched. I put out a few good bottles of wine, a big salad and a pot of stew with rice, and I always have takeaway boxes ready for everyone to bring their cookies home.
If you’re inspired, I hope you’ll throw the Purim party you want to attend this year, too. And just in case you do, here’s a playlist.
