If you became so accustomed through tradition, custom or simply habit, to eating the same things over and over again, it seems reasonable that it would become boring, and you'd yearn for something different. And you'd be wrong. At least by our experience. And that of any ethnic group that traditionally prepares dishes that are familiar by custom and social acceptance.

Take, for example, us. As long as I can recall, in most Jewish households it is customary for a Friday night dinner to consist of chicken soup and rice, potato or noodle pudding as an accompaniment to chicken. Usually, feeding a family meant roasting a large chicken. Because there is now just two of us left at home, we simply have chicken breast, roasted. And a vegetable, say steamed cauliflower, and mushrooms done with the chicken.

The only real variable is the dessert prepared week after week; chocolate cake, blueberry or apple pie, Madeleine-cupcakes, cheesecake, raisin pie - just about anything that might seem complementary to the meal and the end of the week, greeting the welcoming week-end.

No, it doesn't become a bore. When the aroma of soup cooking on the stove top wafts through the house, it's comforting and anticipatory. Even our little dogs know what that means; they get to eat the chicken leg and thigh used in the soup throughout the week, topping their kibble.