Years ago – and I’m not kidding when I say years ago – there was this movie playing in the theaters called, "Nobody Loves Me." I was living in New York at the time and went with a girlfriend to see it.
"One for Nobody Loves Me," I said in full volume to the ticket lady. You can imagine the jokes that ensued.
But I am reminded of it every evening when I cook dinner. Because there is nothing sadder than eating alone.
Sure, sometimes it is nice to have a little quiet time, particularly if you, like me, find yourself in Israel and notice that (hello!) Israelis have a different sense of personal space, and that maybe you don’t want everyone gathered around your desk at lunchtime, getting their cottage cheese on all of your papers.
But I’m talking later. You know, after work, after yoga, when I’m scheming about roasting sweet potatoes with some cumin and some special delicacies involving avocado, black beans and tortillas. It’s just plain sad to go through all of that effort and then to eat alone, hunched over the computer.
Food is about community, after all. It’s about sharing. Which reminds me of another movie, a recent Israeli one called, "Five Hours From Paris," . Specifically, one scene where the music teacher, a Russian beauty, eats dinner with her husband. They don’t even speak. But sitting across from each other at the table, their knees practically touching, as they slurp their soup in silence, the intimacy is palpable.
"Aha!" I remember thinking. "These two really love each other. They have been together a long, long time."
Read Abigail’s latest Matchup column here