On sharing food, holding your ground, and ordering the 10-oz meatball

Tomorrow I leave for two weeks to Spain and Portugal with four of my gal pals. Get ready for tales, tapas, and enough seafood to make a seagull cry!

There is, however, one small wrinkle. I will be the only meat-eater swimming in a sea of vegetarians, traveling through a country that basically runs on jamon. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand while I fill my belly with pork. But navigating the dinner table — ordering, sharing, negotiating — is going to require some finesse. Which got me thinking about the most important social contract in dining.

It’s called Food for the Table. FFTT. And if you’re coming to Europe with me (in spirit), you need to know the rules.

It’s a Lifestyle

“I am obsessed with the concept of food ‘for the table.’ You may be wondering, isn’t any food for the table…food for the table? Yes, sure, but this is more than that. Food ‘for the table’ is a lifestyle choice. For example, at restaurants, when you can’t commit to a whole pancake or waffle, encourage the table to order a ‘table pancake,’ aka a pancake for the table, so that nobody is deprived or overcommitted.”

— Alison Roman

Let that marinate.

I am this person, and I aspire to be an even better version of this person. I could never go all in on a sweet breakfast — the steak and egg has my whole heart — but that lemon ricotta pancake my best friend ordered? A taste bud explosion💥. Did we need it? No. Did we eat all of it? Absolutely. Would I have ordered it for myself? No way. But those sweet pillowy bites covered in butter and syrup were the highlight of the meal and paired perfectly with my savory situation. FFTT is not about needing.

In Spain, this energy is basically baked into the culture. Tapas are FFTT by design — a dozen small plates arriving in the center of the table, everyone reaching, no one overcommitted. I was made for this. Bring on all the delicious things served on toast!

On sharing food

I love sharing food. Trying a little of this, a little of that — it’s the only way to eat. I’m also highly conscious of what the people I’m dining with actually like, which means the end-of-meal negotiation is a sport I take seriously.

I will trade you the last Pastel de Nata for the final bite of the fried bacalhau. Let them consider. Renegotiate if necessary. If I’m going after someone’s favorite dish, I come in with a serious offer. I will trade you the last Pastel de Nata AND buy you a churro and chocolate tomorrow for the last bite of that bacalhau. Make them an offer they can’t refuse, and everybody wins!

What I will not tolerate — and I mean this — is someone taking food off my plate without asking. That crosses a line so deep I will resort to violence. Only verbal. But still.

There are also people who simply do not offer to share. They’ll share if you ask, but you have to say the words. I don’t understand it, I’ve stopped trying to, and I just shout. “Yo, patatas bravas, STAT!”

FFTT Rules

Like all great social contracts, there are rules. Nobody wrote them down. Until now. (Maybe I should inscribe them on stone for safekeeping?)

RULE 1

The person who orders FFTT pays for FFTT.

Full stop. If you have the courage to throw on the FFTT cape (yes, a cape), you are 1000% responsible for that item on the bill. Do not assume the table is splitting that gargantuan bowl of calamari. Nobody asked for it. You did. Pony up.

RULE 2

Pre-arrangement changes everything.

“Y’all wanna split some grilled sardines?” Wait for the collective nod, order the dish, split the check. Easy. No drama. A last-minute decision to order a whole tortilla española, however, is on you — including the half your friend couldn’t finish after realizing she doesn’t actually like eggs.

RULE 3

Sometimes you just have to order the thing.

Even if your dining partner is lukewarm. Even if you’re not totally sure. A 10oz meatball is so conceptually unhinged and physically hilarious that you simply must see it in real life. This could be a suckling pig in Spain or 6 kilos of prawns in Portugal (how much is a kilo again). Let curiosity be your guide, and when in doubt, just do it for the memories! I am telling you, my friend and I STILL laugh about that giant meatball🤣.

My mission now, if I choose to accept it, is to spend the next two weeks putting all of this into practice — negotiating shared plates with four vegetarians in countries built on cured pork and seafood. I know, I know. What a dreadful research project.

I’ll report back with full dispatches from the field. In the meantime, commit the rules to memory. I don’t want you getting stuck with 4.5 kilos of prawns nobody else wants.

Cheers,

Nicole | Butter Cult