Column: In Defense of Tapas

icy-frantz

By Icy Frantz

I just returned from visiting our oldest son in Spain. He is happily spending the semester abroad, studying in Barcelona, and although I am not convinced there is much academic studying going on, he is doing a great job researching the culture and its nightlife and investigating the best ways to travel to neighboring countries. I had never been to Spain. I do not speak the language, but what a place. Barcelona is fun and beautiful, chock full of art and architecture, and enticing with its ocean and mountains, fun-loving people and great food. It has it all, and I wonder now how I could have ever lived without this knowledge?

With only four days, we had to fit a lot in. We visited the Gaudi creations, the Olympic village and the monastery in Monserrat, as well as many cathedrals and the boardwalk, and, in between, we stopped for nourishment. And, I got to thinking that maybe Barcelona’s attractions were simply breaks from our long rest stops for food. And again, the Spanish do this right.

At home, we rush through a meal, sometimes eating standing up at the kitchen counter or in front of the evening news, and, truth be told, sometimes I hurry through the actual cooking forgetting to muster up joy from the act. I simply check the box. Dinner made: check. Dinner eaten: check. We hurry back to homework, emails or whatever the next activity might be. Sometimes we fend for ourselves independently, eating at different times according to our clock and, on occasions when we dine out, we are almost always focused on what is coming next. Because we need to get back to a televised football game, 60 Minutes, or a conference call, dinner is eaten in haste, shoveled in without much thought or appreciation.

In Spain, we lingered over a meal, sinking into a chair as if it was the only place we wanted to spend the evening, and sometimes we did, late into the night until we were forced to get up and head home. We talked. We sat face to face with our cell phones buried away. We waited for the next plate to arrive not impatiently but rather expectantly. Often, there was no written menu and so we accepted whatever plate was served as an offering from the chef. And, this is the best part, food was served family style on small plates to be shared by everyone at the table. The Tapas!! Derived from the Spanish word tapar, which means to cover, tapas literally means lid or cover. There are various theories on how tapas became a part of the Spanish cuisine, but the one I like the most is that in olden times a drink was served with a “top” of bread or meat to keep the fruit flies out. Tapas is such a happy word; just saying it is like a little party in your mouth.

How many times have I gone out to dinner with my husband and misordered? Our food arrives and I look from my plate to his, completely envious of what is before him and a little disappointed by my own choice. I watch closely as he relishes his first bite and I wait. I wait. I wait for him to ask, “Do you want a taste?” And that is nice, but the problem is, one taste is never enough.

Back in Spain, we share. And if one small plate doesn’t suit your taste then you know another one will be on its way soon. Tapas are made to share. There is no ownership. There is no “do you want a taste?” There’s something wonderful about the art of sharing food. And this small act of mutual involvement seems to set the tone at the table. Let’s share our food. Let’s share our life, and that’s the real magic that has stayed with me. Let’s share our life.

For me, sometimes it is just easier to go through the day, like a rat on a treadmill. Crossing off another item on my list of to-dos, giving me an almost guilty pleasure and all headed to some end game. But want is that end game? Is it just a yellow posted note crumpled up and thrown away? What happens when you return that last email or get to the bottom of a big pile papers on your desk? Then what?

Life goes by pretty quickly, I-95 with no traffic kind of speed, and I am at that age when most of our children are out of the house and I can’t really call them children any more. They are fending for themselves.  I am no longer their alarm clock. I am no longer their ride to school. They are beginning to think longer term beyond what they are eating for breakfast. They are putting a life plan in place, connecting their actions with outcomes, and navigating foreign cities and airports all on their own. And while this is a good thing, it makes me realize that much of our lives together are behind us and I should savor what is ahead. Truthfully, nothing makes me happier than when they need something from me, even if it’s just a simple word of advice. Make my day!!! Noticing the pace of our lives, I appreciate those things in life that actually slow us down and enable us to share our lives, our hopes and fears, and our stories with eachother. Tapas.

In Spain, I finished a wonderful book, Pachinko, by Min Jin Lee. It was one of those books that sucks you in and leaves you wanting more. I wanted to know what lay ahead for the main character. I honestly craved more descriptive detail. I needed to know what happened beyond the last page. And it strikes me that, unlike a book with a definitive end, we all have one more page, maybe even another chapter, and we all have the most remarkable stories to share. I want my pages to be filled with people, those in my family and beyond. I want to listen and look up from my cellphone so that I can see the crease of a smile or the shape of a tear. I want to slow down so that I can indulge in the pleasure of a casual conversation with a friend or a stranger. We can’t all live in Spain, but we can bring a little bit of Spain into our daily lives. Tonight, our dinner table is set and the offerings will be served on small plates, family style. I can’t promise that this chef will be as talented as the ones we met in Barcelona, but I promise we will share both our food and our lives.

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