It’s only a meal.
Why the bother and the fuss? Let’s just grab something on the go, a doner kebab or a sandwich, something easy to carry and quick to consume. We only need the calories after all, the energy to sustain our day. Something to fill the belly.
You see, some people believe food has no soul. I don’t think so. I don’t agree.
We gather at the table. Someone has taken on the role of coordinator, checking every schedule amid a flurry of Whatsapp and text messages and emails, and come up with the only night in the month when everyone is free. And here we are, at last. No one arrives late. It’s a miracle.
And who would, really? This table’s not easy to come by. Reservations have got to be made months in advance, or so the rumours go. The chef shines with a bouquet of credentials, a celebrity in her own right with all the stars she has been awarded.
But if we are honest, it’s not her dishes that we have come for solely. The food’s brilliant, a work of genius, surely. Yet it does not hold the limelight.
We gather at the table. Someone has taken the trouble to share his home with us today, gone grocery-shopping a day earlier, recipe-planning a week before, and slogged all morning in the kitchen to prepare the dishes with which he will regale us with soon. No one arrives late. You can’t, really. Come anytime. There’s wine and water to keep those who came earlier occupied, and food is plenty.
Our host is magnificent, his skills without compare. But if we are honest, it’s not his dishes we have come for solely. He is too modest to allow them to hog the limelight.
We sit around the table, we shift and we stir. We play musical chairs and swap neighbours. Our ears are keen for the latest gossip, our tongues waggle and whisper. We laugh and we grin in shared conspiracy. We are silent as we listen; this story is sad, is serious, is sombre.
We gather at the table, but it’s not for the food that’s being served, not solely. Most days, it’s sustenance and it’s a surprise and it brings fresh delights to our palates but this is not why we are here, at the table. We come for the conversations, we come for the company. Without, this would be so much less of a party. It wouldn’t be one at all.
And who says it has to be a party, anyway? Sometimes it’s even better if it’s only you and me at the table, a small one, sharing a freshly baked croissant and numerous cups of cappuccino and all our little stories. It’s the conversation, it’s the company. It’s plenty.