Speaking of the Doctor...

My last post dealt with a man named Roger Ettel (commonly called "Doc" by my father and me) and my recent running into him after not having seen him for what must have been a few years. I wrote briefly about doing some landscaping work with him.

One of the days we were working on those steps, Doc and Betty took me out to McDonald's for lunch. I remember exactly what I ate: double quarter pounder value meal, Sprite to drink.

More importantly, I remember this detail: we shared an apple pie.

I remember it very well, and not because of any particular affinity for the food (though at the time I was a big fan of it), but because we shared it. I remember it because it was one of the first times I ever thought about something I now strongly believe: food was created not simply for nourishment or for enjoyment, but so that people might have a way to share an experience together.

I'm convinced that you could get any two people, no matter how different, to eat together if the right food was on the table. Jesus and Hitler is the pair that usually springs to mind. That's one of the more unusual sentences I've ever put together.

Doc Ettel and I didn't know anything about one another's lives before we ate together. I still don't hardly know anything about his. But I have a great deal of affection and respect for him, and it started with sharing a fakey, nothing-special apple pie from McDonald's.

A strong belief in the value of this sort of experience has led me to dozens of nights of invading people's kitchens, cooking up some food, and sharing an evening together. The food usually turns out well and (since I have developed a passable talent for cooking) the other people eating are usually impressed and grateful. I'm not sure, though, whether they know that it doesn't have much of anything to do with the food.

I cook the food to enjoy its taste and its preparation, and it's my favorite creative outlet, but before that it's an excuse to spend time together and to create common ground between us.

I dated a young lady for three and a half years (the relationship ended about two years ago). Of all the experiences I had with her, the best was the tradition we developed of cooking Sunday dinner and eating it with her family. If you want an example of very different people being brought together over food, that's the one. For a number of reasons, it's a marvel that our relationship lasted as long as it did. I imagine that our Sunday dinners were to blame. Come to think of it, they were just about the only thing that actually brought us closer together after a certain point.

I just ran into her mother today. We spoke very briefly, and the interaction was very disappointing. I was genuinely excited to see her, remembering all those Sunday nights we shared together, when I came to respect and admire her. I'm not sure what she was remembering, but it probably had something to do with the abrupt, unpleasant manner in which my relationship with her daughter ended and with her general impressions of the head-in-the-clouds, directionless young man her daughter dated for so long.

I wish she would have remembered the Sunday nights. Sunday night was the only time I felt good about her impression of me; it was the only time I felt we had any connection to one another at all.

I blame the food.