No good story ever started with an empty plate or an empty glass. It starts with a table, a simple one. Around it, a daily act that is anything but ordinary: eating. But not just eating to fuel, or to fill. Eating as belonging, as remembering, as choosing to be part of something greater than ourselves.
I’ve been thinking about the gentle way some people eat that refuses quick definitions. It’s not just about local produce or seasonal menus. It is a way of life, a rhythm and a quiet conversation between these fantastic trio of ingredients: land, hands, and table. When something placed before us comes straight from the garden, it becomes the beginning of a good story that we enjoy now and share later. The carrot tastes of ground, the tomato smells of sun, the fish brings the sea with it.
One winter afternoon, I ordered a tea at Furnas Lake Forest Living, on the island of São Miguel, in the Azores Archipelago. The waiter listed a few options, and I chose a classic that reminds me of the journeys I’ve taken around the world: mint tea. Right then, standing by the large glass window of the restaurant, I saw the waiter run out to the garden and return with fresh mint leaves straight from the soil to the teapot. This small episode perfectly captures the spirit of the resort and its commitment to simple things. When we sit down to eat, no one needs to tell us that what’s in front of us comes from the garden because the flavor reveals the secret right away. The food is elemental, precise, and unpretentious. Another good example in Portugal are Craveiral Farmhouse, in São Teotónio, or São Lourenço do Barrocal, or even further west at Quinta da Comporta. They live this philosophy from the heart.
“I love places where meals are slow, and generous, and honest.”
I love places where meals are slow, and generous, and honest. Places where you taste the wine and see the vines, eat the bread and remember the smell of firewood. Everything feels natural because nothing is pushed. There’s an absolute presence with no performance.
The most vivid memories are almost always wrapped in the scent of something just made and served. The kitchen becomes a stage, the table a gathering point, and the food becomes the thread that weaves us together. Around the table, we are all a little more human, a little more equal and a little more aware of our place.
From farm to table, sure, but more than that. From place to memory, and from memory to meaning.
