My parents visit me in NYC from the Scranton area every so often. In theory, they enjoy visiting. In theory.

Sometimes they come to Brooklyn and then complain about the graffiti, the parking, the traffic and/or the “distance” from ‘New York.’

My retort that Brooklyn IS New York gets ignored.

More often than not, my parents ask me to meet them in Manhattan at their favorite restaurant–and then complain about the availability of parking, the cost of parking, the crowds and/or my hair/outfit/weight/lack of boyfriend or husband (that last bit is all Mom).

At Pellegrino’s in Little Italy, our small family’s every idiosyncrasy is known, accepted, embraced and even fawned over because, you see, we started going there in 1995 or 1996.

Even though I went through times where I didn’t want to go there, preferring new! and! exciting! sceney! places! and bitchfaced through meals, I still have my own antipasto that isn’t on the menu. They make it for me without me asking.

They know our favorite dishes including which of the specials we definitely want to hear about. The rigatoni alla vodka is one of our standbys.

When in doubt, we drink.

There’s never doubt, OK?

What’s your family tradition?