I'm eating alone at a Salt Lake City restaurant when reminders of the early days of the coronavirus hitting the restaurant industry come to mind. While most people were watching Netflix in their recently-ordered-Amazon-sweats and trying to make sense of a worldwide pandemic, I helped start a nonprofit centered around the food system. At the time, starting a nonprofit or two seemed completely rational and mentally saved me in countless ways. I laser-focused my attention on helping food and beverage businesses, from small farms all the way to independent restaurants. They weren’t the big corporations asking for another bailout. They were the cornerstones of our communities, the little guys making a big impact.

As I stare down at my richly colored beet salad in contemplation, I remember being on a Zoom call in the early days of the pandemic, watching Dan Barber casually peeling roasted beets. Dan Barber is a food system champion of farmers, maintains national celebrity chef status, and is the author of the “The Third Plate.” In my world, he’s a big deal. Watching Dan Barber peel beets was like watching the Beyonce of the food world get ready for a concert. I was enamored by the simplicity of this act. Just like us - famous chefs also have to prepare their dinners. I scanned my eyes across the Zoom screen, Tom Colicchio was bopping around his kitchen, and witnessed the coolness of Sam Kass, as well as a host of other well-known chefs and restaurant owners across the country. Working in local food systems runs in my blood. These early pandemic Zoom calls were like a sign that I might have just reached the pinnacle of my career. It took a crisis of uncertainty to bring us together in this capacity. We had multiple calls like this one to brainstorm solutions, heavily relying on each other's voiced frustrations in solidarity, and through the shit storm we found a shared community. At that time, accolades held no weight, traces of ego went dormant, and we shared a mission that only exists in future uncertainty.

Food is such a critical component in our lives. Walk into any back of the house at a restaurant and get a glimpse of America - its diversity and its struggles. And even still, out pops a beautiful dish before you, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of kitchen chaos. Most of us have no idea what transpired to get that food to the plate in front of us. If we did, we may just sit there in silent rapture, admiration, and awe - completely unable to eat.

So I sat alone at the restaurant bar, ate my plate of food, admired my beautiful beet salad, and just observed the inner workings of the restaurant, so many threads converging in the preparation of a single dish. The time pressure, language barriers, low pay, and unique personalities of all the folks involved. The chef says to the manager “one minute” for a finished pizza and the manager responds demandingly “30 seconds, Chef.” I silently countdown the seconds to see if the chef will rise to the challenge.

Recently, while traveling my husband and I were sitting in a tiny airport diner after finishing our meal, when he asked to speak to the head chef. I observed with quiet curiosity, wondering what might unfold next. When the chef made it to our table, my husband told him it was the best airport food he had ever eaten. I shook my head, thinking that the statement was a true example of an oxymoron. But the employee beamed with pride, his whole face lighting up with delight. It might have been the first time, but hopefully not the last, that the employee knew that he made a difference.

Food is community and when we eat, we are one. It binds us together, reminds us that we have a home.

And home has a familiar taste.

Song: Back to You by Benjamin Gordon. I wrapped some gratitude + energy magic around this song.

In case you want to hear a longer version and learn a dance.