Bon appetit!

Bryn Evans • November 29, 2024

Chapter Tags: Literary Arts, Philosophy, Politics

Around the table, we sing, we eat, we regale.

We reflect, speaking and writing in turn. We take that which comes from deep within and allow it to rise to the surface. Around the table, we share the innermost pieces of ourselves in words, on paper, on plates, with parsley and thyme, serving them to those who will partake. They are for everyone.

But careful now: not too raw. Cook your innards properly. Underdone thoughts might still run red with feeling, and no one wants that. Keep them inside for long enough. Long enough that they are easily digestible. Long enough that they don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Long enough that they don’t smell funny or offensive anymore. People only want to share in them if they’ve been neatly diced, marinated, and par-cooked.

And don’t overdo them either. Be methodical, not overcautious. No one wants raw, but no one wants ultra-processed, thrice-cooked any-spam either. Be original. The dish must be polished, yet unique. Tender, tasteful, but not tepid or trite.

Do the work yourself so that others don’t need to. The better prepared the meal, the less strain on the diner’s digestion. You refine, you process, they enjoy. Let consumption be free, uninhibited, uninvolved, unending. Package servings in unassuming bite-sized morsels, the perfect tapas-style small plate dining experience. Around the table, diners deserve only the best.

Pluck, primp, and sanitize your innards. Leave nothing to chance or interpretation. For if you do, their stomach might disagree with the dish—or worse, still, they might leave a bad review. And this has to be liked by everybody.

Around the table, we speak to impress and write to excite. We can only serve perfection. Around the table, we are chary cooks and picky eaters. So put on your chef’s hat and get cooking. And don’t forget to smile as you wish your guests a guileless bon appetit!