The Joy Of Sharing Food

I obsessively scroll through old videos and photos on my phone. Instagram’s stories archive feature is a torture device that repeatedly drives home how far from average the past seven months have been.

 

Photos of crappy clubs with terrible lighting, spilt beer and drunk smiles have become my new high. Videos of a gig at a small studio in Gurgaon. Fried seafood with my college roommate at a beach near Pondicherry. Lemon tea and a cigarette at the tapri near college after class. A happy reminder that safe spaces exist, and the rude awakening that they won’t be back for a good while.

 

 

On one such scrolling spree, I came across a picture from back in my undergraduate days in Pune. Six people are sitting on the floor, around two giant kadhais full of paneer and chole, a tall pile of Rotis, heaps of rice and two giant bottles of coke. Everyone is all smiles, and it’s the kind of joy that comes from sitting down with the people you love and sharing a meal.

 

 

Foodie Friends

 

The Covid-19 pandemic has taken a lot from us. In this boring dystopia of face masks, physical distancing, isolation and the general sense of dread that looms over us, the feeling of community and companionship now seem far beyond our reach. Eating food may be confined to merely ordering takeout and eating alone on our couches or beds, or while we work from home, for the foreseeable future.

 

As I write this, I’m aware of the privilege I hold, as opposed to so many people in this country right now. The irony that I can sit and crib about not being able to share meals with those I love, while people starve and struggle for just one meal a day, is not lost on me.

I miss vibrant conversations. I miss clinking of cutlery, shameless burps followed by horrified and disgusted, begrudgingly respectful laughter, eating off my friends’ plates. Basically, I miss the feeling of togetherness as we all crowd around a tiny table.

 

The days when, before I would head out for dinner or lunch, I would spend 30 minutes scrolling through the restaurant’s menu to decide what I wanted to eat. It’s an inexplicable feeling, reading through the list of delicacies and trying pick just ONE thing to devour; the fear of missing out (on other dishes) becomes too real then.

 

I miss dinner and drinks, hosting barbecues in our tiny Pune apartment (and taking the same grill to Pavna lake and open cooking).

 

 

Birthday dinners of beer, chakna, hummus pita and chicken tikka should not be taken for granted. It’s been too long since I sat my best friend’s family and watched his father slow cook creamy mutton curry on the choolah for the six of us in their backyard.

 

The cold hazelnut coffee and steaming chicken momos at the infamous Tea Shop in Noida, which I often visited before heading off to work, feels like a far off memory. I miss going to new restaurants and cafes to try out fresh food and commenting on the cuisine and technique of cooking like we were experts.

 

A Sense of Home

 

I find pictures from way back in 2014 when sixteen of us from school went to China for an exchange programme. I remember the animated discussions we held on the meals we were excited to eat or the ones we were terrified to try out. I see pictures of my friend gagging and struggling to swallow when he decided to try out a local delicacy in the small town of Dali. I see giant bowls of broths made of new food items and oodles of noodles on the Lazy Susan in a small restaurant in Kunming.

 

 

The one memory I hold dear is the dinner with my host and her extended family in their ancestral home during the annual Dragon Boat Festival. I watched them prep for two hours for the meal. How excited they were as they brought in the giant bowls and serving trays and piled them on the dinner table. How everyone rushed to fill each other’s plates, and then their own, even before the bottoms of these bowls touched the table.

 

Their table was crowded with different tastes and textures: pork, chicken, shrimp, crunchy vegetables, hand-made noodles that have stretched for miles, delicious broths and soups, sticky rice. I watched in awe at the speed and ease with which they ate with their chopsticks (a skill I did not have). I chatted animatedly, while my host quietly translated bits here and there.

 

 

Every time they saw my emptied bowl, my hosts insisted on giving me another serving. Even after two (massive) helpings, my overfull stomach’s protests went unheard. It took one dinner for me to be a part of their family of 10. The anxiety I’d felt before entering their home was gone by the end of that night. All that was left was warmth and a feeling of community – no longer a foreign meal in a foreign land with a strange family, they felt like home.

 

Food For Thought

 

You might think this is the whining of one girl with not much else to do (you might be right). While researching this piece (did others felt the way I did?), I came across a study by the Appetite journal.

 

The act of sharing food actually makes you a better person, it said. when food is served on a platter meant to share, or “family style”, the feeling of bonding increases. Subsequently, it enforces ideas of fairness and even cooperation.

 

This isn’t limited to just grabbing a meal with your friends or family – when food is served on a platter meant to share, or “family style”, the feeling of bonding increases. Subsequently, it enforces ideas of fairness and even cooperation. The study says that in primitive times, food would often come as one whole animal, and sometimes had to be shared by more than just members of one family. This was linked to cooperation and how learning how to divide portions promoted mortality and equality. The study also found that children who ate home-cooked meals and shared food scored better for altruistic and prosocial behaviour.

 

 

Food as Hope

 

During a recent conversation with a friend, I casually remarked what a good idea it would be to host a Diwali dinner at my house in November. This stupid statement was obviously followed by the realisation that this plan would not see the light of day for a very, very long time. We are irresponsible to indulge in the act of gathering together to share our love for food, and each other: what a depraved notion.

 

I hope (possibly in vain) that when the blanket of this virus lifts, we can return to the normal that we all know and love. “Breaking bread together” may come with a new set of rules, but it would be delightful to return to what once was, minus the fears and anxieties. Moving beyond the confines of our couches, and crowds (remember crowds?) around that tiny table and feel the sense of community and companionship that comes from sharing meals once again.

 

Read more essays: #InTheirWords

 

Note:Feature Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

Note: the author of this piece prefers to remain anonymous.