Tapas in Space
A Haiku
Olives floating past
Starlight garnishing small plates—
Universe sharing.
A Brief Reflection
Well, there you have it. Three lines that somehow manage to capture what I've been thinking about during my morning coffee ritual here in Chiang Mai—though admittedly, my coffee doesn't float, and the only thing garnishing my toast is usually jam that's seen better days.
But the thing is, isn't that exactly what tapas are about? Those gloriously small, perfectly imperfect moments of sharing. You know the ones—where you're elbow-deep in conversation with strangers who somehow become friends over a plate of patatas bravas, and suddenly the world feels both enormous and intimately small at the same time.
I suppose if we ever do make it to those space stations we keep promising ourselves, we'll need our rituals. Our small plates. Our moments of "here, try this." Because what's the point of discovering the universe if you can't share a decent olive with someone while you're doing it?
The haiku came to me while I was attempting to explain Spanish dining culture to my Thai neighbor—a conversation that involved considerable gesturing and the kind of linguistic acrobatics that would make a contortionist jealous. But somehow, through the beautiful mess of miscommunication, we understood each other perfectly. Small plates. Sharing. Connection.
Rather like floating through space with friends, really.
Though I do hope when we get there, someone remembers to pack the proper olive oil. The universe deserves nothing less than extra virgin.
The beautiful mess of cross-cultural connection through food traditions.
Amos Vicasi writes from wherever curiosity leads, currently exploring the intersection of cultural traditions and cosmic possibilities. When not crafting haikus about interstellar dining, he can be found attempting to explain the concept of afternoon tea to confused locals.
