Fast food

There's no experience more foreign to someone who was born in the wonderful mediterranean climate than the concept of fast food. I wasn't even sure of how to broach this subject, so, I decided to go full on ethnographic. How can I explain this problem I have? Allow me to give you an example: it is now Sunday, around 5 p.m.. Would you believe I started my lunch at one, got up from the table at half past four and am still writing with my unfinished glass of beautiful portuguese red wine by my side? Well... I am.
Lunch hasn't even finished for me, as I will find a table full of desserts and all the kids around the table if I go back to the kitchen. And we'll go on straight into dinner, with no need for breaks and food will be around until bedtime.

(Image: somewhere out of my files. It's not my family, but friends from brazil with portuguese roots)

Obviously, we don't do this on work days, but still, we do take at least a couple of hours for lunch. Next to us, in Spain, they include an additional hour for a siesta. All this time around the table and, mysteriously, we are not obese. We eat slow, home cooked food, made out of our mediterranean food staple: bread, fish, pork, olive oil and lots of rice and potatoes with salad on the side, we also do lots and lots of delicatessen in small portions, and beautiful sweets based mainly in eggs. Do we do it for the food? Sometimes. But, mainly, no.

What matters to us is the people connection. The family ties, talking to friends, to turn professional relations into personal friendships. We live for the community and not for the rush of getting ahead of others. For that, we rely on strong, unbreakeable ties forged on the dinner table. I know, because I've travelled so far, that you can see this happening all around the mediterranean and on mediterranian migrants homes all over the world. A meal for us is something sacred. A moment to ground ourselves in our communities and in happy, fulfilling lives.

Don't get me wrong. We also eat chicken wings and hamburgers and pizzas. We just don't do it fast, and everytime we have to speed it, we curse ourselves for not having the time to do it propperly, with all three or four generations of the family and additional close friends and their families all together. Fortunately, we have the weekends for those perfect get togethers, and that tends to keep us very happy.

Now... I'm going to go refill my glass, grab a byte and soak a couple more stories from the older ones, so I can never get out of subjects to write about.

Have a beautiful week, all of you.
And eat slow. Slow is better.