There is a bowl of pasta on the table and nobody is reaching across for a taste.
It looks good. Tomatoes, basil, a little Parmesan. The sort of dinner you take a picture of before you start eating.
Years ago, dinner looked different.
There were more plates on the table then. Someone always wanted the bigger piece. Someone complained about something they didn't like. You could hear a chair being pulled out while another person was still bringing food from the kitchen.
As a child, you probably didn't think much about any of it.
It was just dinner.
"Sometimes we miss the ordinary things we never knew we would miss."
Growing up changes the table.
You move away. People get older. Work takes you somewhere else. Brothers and sisters have homes of their own. The people who once ate together every evening may now need a birthday, a holiday or a long-planned visit to find themselves around the same table again.
And somewhere along the way, dinner for one stops feeling unusual.
You learn to cook what you like. You buy better ingredients. Maybe you finally make pasta exactly the way you want it, without anyone picking out the tomatoes or asking why there isn't more sauce.
There is something nice about that too.
The Table You Remember
Memory is funny around food.
You might forget what was cooked on an ordinary Wednesday twenty years ago, but remember where everyone sat.
You remember somebody calling from the kitchen that dinner was ready. The plate that was always used for serving. The person who took too long to come to the table. The argument that disappeared as soon as everybody started eating.
Back then, none of it looked important.
Tonight there is pasta in the bowl again. Maybe the room is quieter now. Maybe the table is smaller. Maybe the people you would like to share it with are living somewhere else.
You take the first bite.
And for a moment, dinner is crowded again.
