When we closed the doors of our homes to the rest of the world during a pandemic-enforced lockdown, food from a collection of my favorite restaurants became part of an exclusive group of acceptable guests, who visited with greater frequency than ever before as I tried to create certainty within uncertain times.
However, as the virus continued to endure against our collective curtailment, my initial optimism slowly gave way to dejection just like the veil of certainly that shrouded my comfort food gave way to the reality that even that experience was not what it used to be.
Not only was the food not as fresh when delivered home, but the context within which I enjoyed that food was also totally different.
At a restaurant, a sense of anticipation that collectively builds up as you and the rest of the members at your table eagerly await the food ordered only serves to increase the satisfaction ultimately received. And while you go to a restaurant to enjoy the food, that occasion only comes to fruition on the pretext of social bonding with your family, friends, or colleagues.
In short, I dearly missed the social bonding and accentuated food experience that came with going to a restaurant. Ever since the restrictions on in-person dining were lifted, I’ve tried to enjoy that experience to the fullest, well aware that I had taken it for granted.
When I was on holiday a few months ago, a somewhat traditional restaurant approach reshaped my perception of modern dining by creating a way more fulfilling experience than usual.
As my parents, cousin brother, and I patiently waited at the family-style Chinese restaurant, I couldn't help but wonder what it was going to be like to interact with my relatives who made up the rest of our dining contingent, after almost 12 years of not seeing most of them.
I had very fond memories of them as a kid, and I was looking forward to reacquainting myself with all of them.
The imperfection of modern dining, however, is that the indecision and contemplation usually associated with scouring the menu for a dish is preceded by deciding where to even sit.
Sitting at one end of the table renders the people at the opposite end mere bystanders and the quality of your experience ends up precipitating largely on the people closest to you.
To that effect, I realized I would need to select who I sat next to, and thus potentially sacrifice the depth of conversation I would have with someone else.
But soon into the dinner, I realized that the circular shape of our table, adorned with a rotating Lazy Susan, assuaged my initial concerns.
Unlike the typical long rectangular tables that create silos of conversation, the round table meant that I was in close enough proximity to converse freely and consistently with everyone sitting there. Like the Lazy Susan took our Kung Pao Chicken around the table for everyone (but my vegetarian brother) to help themselves, I was also able to go around and catch up with everyone periodically.
And like Knights of the Round Table convening to discuss wartime strategy, there was a certain democratic air to our evening.
Despite three generations of the family represented at the table, there was no sense of hierarchy that subtly pervades a traditional dining experience where the “head of the table” is usually left to the oldest person present. Just as we keenly rotated the Lazy Susan to get to the Peking duck pancakes, the circular shape meant that anybody could freely access and inject themselves into any conversation. Given that we were all family, some stories had multiple actors sitting at that very table, allowing for everyone's nuanced perspective.
Our setup meant that nobody was safe from an unexpected barb, which could be levied from any direction. Being the youngest at the table, my brother and I were the routine victims of our uncles’ jokes, no doubt aimed at exposing our more cavalier side that hid under our current pretense of formality and politeness. The low barrier of entry meant that anybody else could add to those jokes, creating a tornado of banter that could affect anybody.
Usually, we succumb to a “Could you pass me the rice?” to get what we want. That entails patiently waiting to make sure we don't interrupt anybody or catch them mid-bite. The novelty of the Lazy Susan meant that there was never an awkward break in the flow of conversation, as we quietly rotated it to get the food we desired while still paying attention to whoever we were speaking to. Like a play where everyone is perfectly synchronized, eliminating common courtesy only served to maintain the energy that had been created.
And finally, there is an undertone of anticipation and excitement that arises when the fried rice slowly spins into reach, closer in each moment to our plate and salivating mouths, that simply can't be recaptured by the clunky, uncoordinated passing of food down the line at a long table.
Maybe the dinner was enjoyable simply because the food was great and the company was even better, and I just fabricated this in a desperate attempt to put out my weekly dose of content.
But my mind does wander to what that dinner might have been like in an alternative universe where we sat at the typical longer dining table instead.
A quick Google image search for “communal dining tables” returns the following:
Anecdotally, you might also recall a recent dining experience with a large group that was sitting at a long table like those in the pictures above.
In our modern Instagram validation-seeking world, looks and design often take precedence over functionality and purpose. Restaurants are places we go to parade our food online before even biting into it to acknowledge that it’s been appropriately salted, much less actually tasty. How the food really was after the fact is only relegated to negative reviews on Google, should that be the case.
From that perspective, maybe my experience fell within rarefied air. It was so startlingly uncommon that it felt more than it really was.
Ideally, I’d love to control the effect of the shape of our table on overall enjoyment by comparing it to the exact same dinner in an alternative reality and thus back my claims up with some data, but since the Multiverse is only true in the realm of Marvel fantasy, you just have to take my word for it.
Amazingly enjoyable read for me sure it will be for all.