What’s it like going to a New Jersey wedding? They are big, fun and distinctly Jersey.

Jersey weddings are hands-in-the-air celebrations of epic proportions.

A friend of mine told me she’s got nine weddings this year. Nine! One of them happens to be my daughter’s, so it felt a little funny asking if she had to take a second mortgage to cover the envelopes, but I asked anyway.

“What are ya gonna do?” she shrugged. “I can’t not go!”

The double negative reminded me of how the envelopes actually work around here. Give or take a couple of random invites, it’s pretty much a give-and-take operation. You just have to keep track of the busta like a grandma, and it’s a wash. So, before I go to Gina’s daughter’s wedding, I check my book to see what Gina gave to my daughter, and I can seal my envelope with a kiss and a clear conscience. Capeesh?

And in case you’re wondering, this is Jersey. The busta beats the box-ah, so don’t make a spectacle of yourself by strutting in with a present. You should have taken care of that at the shower.

I gotta be honest — there’s nothing like a Jersey wedding! I’ve been to more than 40 of them in my lifetime, including my own way back in 1900s; and over-the-top is always the way to go. Our cocktail hours are legendary, with so much food we have to take the buffet vertical for antipasto towers, cascading raw bars, and tiered trays of tacos, sliders, and anything you can wrap in bacon to fit between the carving stations and chafing dishes lining every flat surface. All to be consumed in 60 savory minutes while chasing down the passed hors d’oeuvres.

And all to be accompanied by an open bar. I’ve listened in horror to stories about “dry weddings” others had the displeasure to attend in states I won’t mention. Not that I advocate being overserved, I’m … just sayin’. We like to toast things here in Jersey, many things, to a chorus of “Ayyy!” and “Salute!” to the bride, to the groom, to their health, to their wealth, to many children! It’s tough to rally a decent level of enthusiasm with a paper cup of apple juice, but maybe that’s just me. (I’m quite sure it’s not just me. I live here, remember?)

Stumbling into the ballroom — easy, we just ate! — we find our tables and proceed to decide what we’re eating next, though we don’t actually eat it. Well, the wallflowers might; but the rest of us diehard Jersey wedding-goers will be hitting the dance floor, the nearest open bar we immediately took care to locate upon entering, and the photo booth to commemorate the joyous occasion in glorious, undignified fashion. It works up an appetite. Too bad we skipped dinner.

But thank God for the Venetian Hour! Who stops at wedding cake, I ask? Behold the chocolate fountain, because we like our strawberries drenched in community cocoa. With a side of cannoli and cookies and cream puffs, thank you very much. Another spread that gets its own room here.

Jersey weddings are hands-in-the-air celebrations of epic proportions. We don’t do the hokey-pokey anymore, but we know what it’s all about: eat, drink, dance, and bring on the busta.

This article originally appeared in the Fall 2023 issue of Jersey’s Best. Subscribe here for in-depth access to everything that makes the Garden State great.