Photo by Justin Brummer
My in-laws liked to joke that Daniel would cater for any event, so the discovery on the day of his funeral of a large pot of his homemade chopped liver in the freezer felt as crushing as it did inevitable. He was still making sure we were well-fed even after he was gone.
Daniel cooked with love. My late uncle-in-law would always arrive at the family home laden with Tupperware packed full of his famous fish balls or latkes, and journeys to visit him in Brighton would be peppered with speculation as to which of his specialty meals we would be treated to. Daniel intrinsically understood the way that food and drink bind us. A former kosher butcher and descendant of the owners of Tamplins Brewery whose grandparents owned Brighton’s historic Rock Inn, Daniel had an unfailing sense of hospitality that was inseparably fused with his abundant kindness, good humor, and generosity. He saw the funny side of everything and the best in everyone, and welcomed me into the family with delightful, gentle ribbing, often sprinkled with the Cockney rhyming slang for which he was famous, while piling my plate high and filling my glass.
The experience of eating together is a bonding rite. I learned about Jewish food while simultaneously absorbing my in-laws’ small rituals, picking up ancient in-jokes and complex family histories over shared meals on Friday nights, festivals, and holidays. With recipes handed down over generations, there is a sense of history and purpose when we come together to eat as a family, and never more so than when we opened that final tub of chopped liver.
Words + Photoby Ruvani de Silva