Food’s Role in Empathy
In writing this, I hope to highlight a greater truth related to food experiences, and explicate the chili pepper’s role in tying them together. Americans like to think that we are the most culturally and ethnically diverse, we’re not. Why do so many, though, tout a diversity ranking that oftentimes equates to a badge of honor? Ambition to be the most diverse country? Misinformation? Perhaps there are several. I believe the disconnection lies in a seemingly more simple concept, not knowing what your neighbor eats. James Beard said food is our common ground, a universal experience.
I’ll pose more questions. Do you think the old white man in Casper, WY learns more about the young black woman in Jackson, MS, and vice versa, by listening to respective local news soundbites or understanding what each meal the other ate for a given day? How about reading a bipartisan media article on race in America or know how much each spent on groceries for the month? Which do you think has a greater impact on understanding someone from a starkly different background, spice cabinet lineup or which social apps they have downloaded on their phones? We are playing hide-and-seek with one another’s culture through an opaque, translucent at best, filter on each other’s lives dictated by unshared experiences. For anyone culture-curious, start with the proverbial breaking of bread --- there is no other more raw experience that every human goes through to different degrees than planning, picking, buying, executing each mouthful of food for themselves, and sometimes others.
The supper table matters. There is a who, what, when, where, why, and how happening every single day around this symbol of cohesiveness and understanding, in millions of homes. Chili peppers uniquely touch each element, no matter which one you choose among tens of thousands. There is a small town in southern middle Tennessee near where I grew up, borderline podunk, where the Laos and Thai population grows strong the past two decades. The sole proprietor of Thai Phooket would serve my dad 1:1, heralding an Itamae relationship. The sweat dripping down my dad’s face as he polishes off a bowl of spiced pho, always accompanied with a smile, eventually led to a tour out back showcasing the restaurant-featured chili peppers. My dad, Uncle Skippy, first grew his own thai birdseye chili peppers fifteen years ago, from the same seed, in a small garden outside our home in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. They ripened, green, yellow, to bright orange, picking them before they turned red. He and my mom then invented what we today call chili dressing. If I’m not eating our chili dressing with a meal I’m supplementing said meal with a side pepper that stems from fifteen years ago at Phooket.
What other food can recall these memories with distinction? There is so much emotion involved when sharing a visceral food experience e.g. weddings, birthdays, graduations; but, these Hallmark moments are intentionally designed with food only serving as the backdrop or an accoutrement. Peppers involuntary coerce a similarly shared experience: new and old relationships shine, timelines matter, tears shed, and the meal becomes the protagonist because one can not separate the spice from the food.
