Christmas can be a funny time if you’re Jewish—it’s not your holiday, but it’s such a huge holiday that the entire world grinds to a halt, so your impulse is to locate the people you love most and share the moment with them. My tradition involves my brother Mike’s family, me, and Christmas Eve dinner at this very old-school, thoroughly unstylish but secretly great Greenwich Village restaurant (that’s a picture of it above—bonus points to any New Yorker who can identify it). Their specialty is t-bone steak—like I said, we’re talking old school—and we get it with every conceivable side order, and then when we’re done, go to the deli across the street and buy candy bars for dessert. Like all good traditions, we didn’t plan for it to become one; we just kept going back, year after year, until we realized that we’d created something the season wouldn’t feel right without. Now please tell me yours. I love this stuff.