An Ersatz Sobremesa –
When anyone asks me to picture family, like most people, I imagine my own family. But that mental image (or filmstrip, really) is always the same. We--Mom, Dad, my three siblings, their spouses, and a handful of my nieces and nephews—are gathered around my parents’ dining room table. We’ve finished eating but haven’t cleared any of the dishes yet. Rather than clean up the dinner dishes and move into the more comfortable living room, we linger around the table talking. To me, that is family.
It didn’t matter what we talked about; I loved those stolen minutes (hours) together, a refuge from the hurry of the day. It didn’t matter that I rarely contributed to those conversations. I loved nothing more than to sit back and listen, occasionally adding a thought or opinion, but mostly just savoring the fellowship.
What we talked about varied. Topics--even within one evening--could range from commonplace anecdotes of the day to comic memories from the past, from philosophical and theological discussions to personal reflections and experiences. We shared thoughts about books, movies, teachers, speakers, and, of course, food (although I’m not sure why it’s so natural to discuss the memories of the amazing A&M’s subs while eating Mom’s home-cooking).
Recently, I learned that there is a Spanish word to describe this time that I love so much--sobremesa. It makes sense that we don’t have an English word for it since now so few families gather around a table to eat together in our culture. Even fewer people invited guests into their homes, choosing instead to meet friends at a restaurant. (In the last decade, I’ve been invited into only four families’ homes for dinner.) While fellowship over dinner at a restaurant can be pleasant, the bustling environment and the consideration of the wait-staff who need to turn over the table make sobremesa almost impossible. My own home is a tiny apartment with little room to accommodate guests comfortably around the kitchen table, and my own family is spread over the country now, which makes any sobremesa that much sweeter.
For those who, like me, enjoy a rambling discussion about almost anything after a satisfying meal, welcome to my own ersatz sobremesa. Since I eat dinner alone, it seems only natural (and more sane) to write my after-dinner conversations than to actually talk to myself.
When anyone asks me to picture family, like most people, I imagine my own family. But that mental image (or filmstrip, really) is always the same. We--Mom, Dad, my three siblings, their spouses, and a handful of my nieces and nephews—are gathered around my parents’ dining room table. We’ve finished eating but haven’t cleared any of the dishes yet. Rather than clean up the dinner dishes and move into the more comfortable living room, we linger around the table talking. To me, that is family.
It didn’t matter what we talked about; I loved those stolen minutes (hours) together, a refuge from the hurry of the day. It didn’t matter that I rarely contributed to those conversations. I loved nothing more than to sit back and listen, occasionally adding a thought or opinion, but mostly just savoring the fellowship.
What we talked about varied. Topics--even within one evening--could range from commonplace anecdotes of the day to comic memories from the past, from philosophical and theological discussions to personal reflections and experiences. We shared thoughts about books, movies, teachers, speakers, and, of course, food (although I’m not sure why it’s so natural to discuss the memories of the amazing A&M’s subs while eating Mom’s home-cooking).
Recently, I learned that there is a Spanish word to describe this time that I love so much--sobremesa. It makes sense that we don’t have an English word for it since now so few families gather around a table to eat together in our culture. Even fewer people invited guests into their homes, choosing instead to meet friends at a restaurant. (In the last decade, I’ve been invited into only four families’ homes for dinner.) While fellowship over dinner at a restaurant can be pleasant, the bustling environment and the consideration of the wait-staff who need to turn over the table make sobremesa almost impossible. My own home is a tiny apartment with little room to accommodate guests comfortably around the kitchen table, and my own family is spread over the country now, which makes any sobremesa that much sweeter.
For those who, like me, enjoy a rambling discussion about almost anything after a satisfying meal, welcome to my own ersatz sobremesa. Since I eat dinner alone, it seems only natural (and more sane) to write my after-dinner conversations than to actually talk to myself.