June 20th, 2008
I Want to Sit in a Cafe with Friends and Feed Myself on Convivial Conversation
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Three months back, I was someone who tried to never eat alone — at least three times in a week, I would either eat out, or invite someone home for ordered pizza/ home-made pasta and a shared bottle of wine.
In the last three months, I haven’t been inside a restaurant even once, I have entered a coffee shop only to use the washrooms, and the one time I ordered pizza home, it resulted in an upset stomach in a classic cautionary tale turn of events. In the beginning, I compensated by inviting my friends over more often, but now that my wine collection has run dry, and my stock of munchies is over, even throwing a house party isn’t as much fun anymore. As a result, instead of socializing thrice a week, I’m meeting my friends once in three weeks. In fact, I think it has been more than a month since I spent any time with my best friends Kanishka and Avantika.
In the spirit of scientific curiosity, I took away my social context, knowing fully well that —
unless you invent new social contexts, not only dating, even meeting friends may become a problem.
I shouldn’t be surprised, then, that I feel as if I’m living in a social vacuum.
I’m not at all surprised, by the way, that I could immediately identify with this excerpt from page 58-59 of Judith Levine’s ‘Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping’ –
For vicarious pleasure, or perhaps in anticipation of next year, I clip restaurant reviews and take them out from time to time to reread, returning like a regular to my favorite spots.
Not patronizing cafes, bars, or restaurants has made social life, and especially business life, awkward.
But reading the reviews, I realize that I’m forfeiting more than convenience. I’m losing conviviality and communion, which is a lubricant for deal-making both professional and personal. Without the glass of wine or cup of coffee, the meeting — and its participants — can’t help but be all business.
The cafe is a uniquely urban amenity, offering a uniquely urban pleasure: to work, eat, read, daydream, or observe others doing the same, unknown but seen, private in public. They city allows anonymous intimacies of every intensity — from sidewalk glances to barroom confessions to backroom sex… I find myself yearning for the time I’ll again sit at a side table and sip, consuming cool intimacies.
In fact, I don’t even want the coffee. All I want is to sit in a cafe, on a side table, with two friends or three, and feed myself on convivial conversation.
