As a child of Louisiana, I learned early that in this part of the world, we’re champion eaters and champion talkers. But only recently did it occur to me that Louisianans are big talkers because we’re big eaters.
The thought came to mind while reading “Talking Cure,” Paula Marantz Cohen’s new book about, as her subtitle puts it, “the civilizing power of conversation.” Cohen’s book has arrived at just the right time, as more of us are getting out after the isolation of the pandemic and talking face-to-face again. Among her points is that good food and good talk often go hand in hand.
That’s not a new piece of wisdom, of course. From history’s earliest days, breaking bread together has been a popular way for strangers to become friends and for friends to get closer. But in summoning some lively observations from other writers and offering a few of her own, Cohen provides a potent reminder that great meals and great conversation can cheerfully work in tandem.
She quotes Virginia Woolf, who noted that a fine meal can spark “the rich yellow flame of rational discourse.” That’s not inevitably so, as anyone who’s shared a Thanksgiving table with an ornery relative can attest. But there is something about good food that usually puts people at ease and, in conversation, allows us to be what Cohen simply calls “one’s best self.” Woolf describes the well-being as our appetite is slowly satisfied in the company of others: “No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.”
It’s a sense of camaraderie many of us have felt when we sit across from each other with a bowl of gumbo, a savory étouffée, a plate of catfish or a warm po-boy. I sensed it memorably three decades ago when my in-laws hosted a crawfish boil for the rehearsal dinner before my wedding. Guests from out of town were placed at tables with locals who tutored the newcomers in the messy art of separating a mudbug from its tail. Everyone in the prenuptial party quickly bonded as they dissected their dinner over tables lined with newspapers. It’s pretty much impossible to keep social boundaries at a dinner when there’s as much of your meal on you as in you.
If it’s true that food can grease the wheels of conversation, then it also seems true that the absence of a decent meal can, conversely, make us a little reticent. I thought about this recently when some routine medical testing required me to fast for a day, a modest sacrifice that made me feel quieter. This is, no doubt, why fasting also figures in religious traditions such as Lent. While fasting points us inward, a good meal nudges us outward, where all good talk takes place.
Which is why, after my trip to the doctor, my wife and I celebrated with lunch.
Email Danny Heitman at danny@dannyheitman.com.
Leave a Reply