We started off with a purée of eggplant soup, a dollop of basil goat cheese, and a round of everyone's earliest, or most poignant memories.
Amazingly, a lot of them included a body of water, but most included a trauma, or a distressed feeling. Feelings of betrayal by parents who'd promised they'd catch us, and didn't. Feelings of desperation when we were in some sort of medical emergency. And then, there were the memories which we couldn't recall, but we'd inherited. It led us to ask: what makes a memory, or rather, a childhood memory? A lot of us remembered an early moment, as early as being three or four, that most of us can't really remember, but have had imprinted on our consciousness by the adults who witnessed the event.Second course: my broiled chicken with an olives, lemon and bread salad, along with tales of what did we want to be when we grew up. Baseball players, taxi drivers,
seamstresses, models, mad scientists, absolutely nothing, or a variety of things depending on the day. What drove our desires was an interesting exploration: can girls be smart, and can they invent a time machine? What are boys supposed to be? Is reaching adulthood even a possibility? The social contexts and the gendered expectations of our desires were a good topic of conversation: what does city dwelling, single parent households, suburbia, queerness, or being an only child do to how we develop desires or long term goals?Third course: homemade tagliatelle with Jacob's lamb ragú, and stories of our thirteenth birthday.
A lot of us didn't remember that specific year, but could remember a few years before or after. My 13th birthday was February 4th, 1992, which in Venezuelan politics is the day our current president, Hugo Chávez, tried a Coup-d'état. A very primal resentment sprung out that day when my birthday party was canceled due to a state's curfew. I think that is the day where I became conscious of a being a political being, or at least living in a grander political context.Good thing that by the time our fourth course was due, everyone had had plenty of wine. The topic: first crushes and early heartaches with melon and lime sorbet.
Funny thing was, the full names of strangers buried away by decades were being shouted out at the dinner table. Detailed descriptions of that tight knot in one's chest when being broken up with, or that guilty feeling when breaking up with someone. Some stories of first sexual experiences came up, like the Norwegian woman in Sri Lanka getting her way with a thirteen-year-old, or the gift-wrapped condom for a seventeenth birthday.Our cheeseplate was comprised by a Roaring Forties, a tasmanian cow's milk blue cheese that was both dolce and stinky, and a Sottocenere Perla Grigia, a soft piedmontese cow's milk cheese, with my perfected batch of walnut raisin bread and a trio of apricot, fig and pear jams. We discussed our first drunkenness, but you'll have to forgive me, dear readers, since the only detail I remember from that conversation was that I myself was now really drunk, and was contemplating the irony of having to recount my first drunkenness amidst my most recent.
Thanks to my friend e.m.a.e.l, the perfect closing prompt asked diners to fill in the blank: I want more of [...] in my life. Adventure, consistency, fun/honesty/money, simplicity, intimacy. The best one was not written on the menu, but rather scribbled onto the table, hidden away by breadcrumbs, candlewax, and water stains: CONNECTION.
I feel like the intimate stories and memories we shared did just that, build and strengthen the connection, intimacy, and honesty among us at the table.Next Communion is Tuesday, September 8th!
