Food is one of our basic needs and while our cultural, historical and psychological perspective has shifted over the centuries depending on time and place, the need for food has remained a constant. Yet it is fascinating how a concept so simple — a substance that nourishes and sustains — can be so wildly complicated. There are myriad angles from which to approach this dynamic topic but one that sparks the most interest in me is the simple ritual of the evening meal.
Before the mass production of food began in the 1950s after WWII; before TV dinners were marketed so we could stay poised in front of our favorite show during supper; before Campbell Soup took the place of mother’s homemade chicken noodle soup; before drive-thrus, the golden arch and taco bell, there was supper.
In fact, so much time and care was devoted to this ritual that entire days were planned around the meal. Supper was enjoyed around a table with no iphones, televisions or laptops to distract from the smells, tastes and company contained in the dining room. I imagine these suppers as quiet, calm, nourishing, rejuvenating moments. Perhaps I am idolizing this period of time but I cannot help but try to recreate this memory of supper — of calm, quiet — for myself.
While I have friends and colleagues that can easily draw upon their favorite recipes from childhood and can recall three hour meals seated around the dinner table, enjoying food prepared by mother or father, my experience was different. I have wonderful and loving parents who I am very close with but unfortunately the ritual of supperwas lost in the fray of trying to keep up in a competitive, modern, suburban world. I was a product of the fast paced, resume building era of the late 90s and early aughts. School let out and was followed by a series of back to back extracurricular activities from dance practice to piano to swim team, ending a 13-hour day with homework and bedtime. I remember eating supper on the road while traveling from one commitment to the next. I would swallow a slice of pizza or a turkey sandwich without even realizing I was eating food. I was not alone on this journey; many of my peers followed a similar routine. The simple ritual tossed out the window like an unnecessary object.

But this ritual is not disposable. There is a reason that supper has — until more recently — withstood the test of time. Not only is this a moment in the day to nourish ourselves and take rest, but it is also an opportunity to pass time with those that we love, check-in, decompress and process the events that took place over the course of the day. When we tuck away our iphones a space opens for feelings to emerge that we simply cannot explore if we don’t take time to pay attention to our subjective experience. If we simply dismiss this period of the day without pause, we continue to move on adrenaline and eventually we crash.
Perhaps my childhood experience and the absence of this important ritual has informed my work today. With a background in psychology and a Master’s degree in Human Development from Harvard, I am ironically a restauranteur, which means I essentially throw a dinner party every night. To me, it’s important to create aesthetically minded places, built with care where guests are inspired to put their phones away and focus on the company around them. The food is beautifully plated in handmade ceramics and prepared with local and seasonal ingredients, boasting the time and care that went into each dish and reminding us that this evening hour is sacred and must not be discarded.
