My Go-To Conversation Party Move to Cure Any Awkward Lull

Project 365, Day 172/365

When I’m in a new social environment (which, uh, hasn’t happened in a very long time), I tend to get a spike of anxiety to never let the conversation dull. I’m an extroverted introvert. I do not get my energy from interacting with anyone outside of my circle. Which made having to go to fancy cocktail parties for a previous job utterly nerve-wracking. I had to do it, but I never liked it unless I got to bring a wingman or co-worker. A solo party? Lord help me. When things started feeling forced, or like what we were talking about was dwindling, my go-to move was to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I mastered the polite interjection, so much so that I could do it naturally numerous times a night…and did.

There were times where I would go and just stood in the bathroom for a few minutes, longer if there was no line. Do nothing but making sure there was nothing in my teeth, reapplying lip balm, just sitting if there was a chair or something. Something to pass the time until I could go back outside and move on to a new group of people to mingle with until the night was over and I got to go home. I detest small talk—does anyone like it?!?—but mostly because of that bubbling of discomfort I get in my insides when I’m running out of things to say.

So, I started coming up with “ice breakers” to keep in my figurative back pocket for times when an “I’m so sorry, but do you happen to know where the restroom is?!?” just didn’t feel right. Or when I actually quite enjoyed who I was talking to and wasn’t ready to move on. Or when I came back from a bathroom outing and the same person or persons would find me, and I knew I couldn’t bathroom break it up for at least another hour.

It took some experimenting over the course of several events. But one thing I realize most people are happy to talk about that I would also enjoy was food. “What’s your most memorable meal?!?” People always would stop, think, go back into their brains to try to pluck something out. Sometimes I got very boring answers and then I’d fill in the rest with my own meal that I would share. Other times, I got beautiful stories about grandmothers and family recipes and tidbits about them I would have never learned had it not been for a little prying. Typically, a favorite meal or memorable food experience involved travel, I found, which led to more questions…a conversation skipping rock that jumped and jumped. People’s eyes light up when they talk about food (or their kids), so it was such an easy play.

The “memorable meal” question became my “party trick” that only I knew about—though for all I know, people probably saw me and thought to themselves “Oh god, there’s that memorable meal question girl again.” I think I pulled it off, though. I was lucky that most events I had to attend were with different people, so it rarely got old. If I was in a different city, it would tend to veer off into “what are the best restaurants around here?”…another thing people love to do: give their opinion or recommendations. Try it one day. It won’t fail you.

So, before I wrap up, and actually ask YOU what your most memorable meal experience happens to be, I’m going to share my own. I’ve had the luck and pleasure of having amazing meals in amazing cities mostly in part to having been a magazine editor (people just LOVE to feed you, tbh), but one stands out in my mind as the clear winner. I was visiting Bologna, Italy for a tile and bathroom fixtures trade show many years ago. How these things tend to go is that you’re inviting and brought over by a sponsor, who pays for almost everything, and also plans some beautiful excursions and the like. On this same trip, we took a day trip to Florence, had numerous dinners and jaunts that ended in mounds of gelato. On the last leg, the group I was with piled into a smaller tour bus and made our way to Modena (it’s famous for balsamic vinegar).

It’s a good thing I was engrossed in conversation with some friends I had made on the trip because I do not do well with heights and very narrow road on hillsides. There was one time where the bus struggled, and I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and prayed ferociously we weren’t about to tumble to our deaths. I could see the news headlines: “American Tour Group of Design Editors Plummets in Freak Van Accident.” Obviously, we made it.

After the harrowing vehicle journey, we arrived just before sunset to a beautiful stone estate that served as a winery vinegar cellar, and wellness retreat. We took a little tour of the property, visited the vinegar cellars to learn all about the process of aging balsamic, did a tasting, then settled in for dinner.

Lining the center of the long table were little silver cups full of crudité. Simple carrots, celery, radishes. At each place setting was a small bowl, which I’ve later learn was to drizzle from vinegar into for the vegetables. Okay, sure. I like vegetables. I like balsamic vinegar. There were about three to choose from. I can’t remember all the ages of the vinegar, but I do remember one was over 100 years old. Obviously, I wanted to try that one, as it seemed like the most special one. Expecting a thin liquid to drip out of the jar—essentially, what I’m used to back home from the grocery store—I was surprised by a thick glug. It was like syrup. A little sprinkle of flaky salt and a crank of pepper on top, and I grabbed a carrot, dipped and put it into my mouth as I chatted.

I immediately stopped, taken aback by the sweet, pungent, glorious black gold I had just consumed. WHAT WAS THAT MAGIC? Friends, I had never tasted vinegar like that. I had never tasted a carrot like that. Every flavor was so punctuated. The most carroty carrot, the silkiest, rich vinegar. I was blown away. Bad nothing else come to the table that night, I would have been happy. A girl, her carrots, and her bowl of 100-year-old balsamic vinegar. But what arrived next was a plate of garlic encrusted clouds rolls. I remember picking one up…it was nearly weightless, but ripping it apart to drag through–what else?—more balsamic was like pulling sea mist apart. Perhaps I was high on the balsamic and remembering these rolls incorrectly, but I like my memory, and I don’t really care if it’s incorrect.

Floating in a sea of aged balsamic, I barely noticed as a plate of five perfect ravioli-shaped pillows slid in front of me. I’ve never been too much of a ravioli fan. I grew up going to Olive Garden and Red Lobster on special occasions. If we ate ravioli at home, it was probably Buitoni from Publix, swimming in Ragu and topped with pre-shredded mozzarella. The pasta was thick, the ricotta was lumpy. Perfectly good suburban kid dinner.

This…this wasn’t Buitoni.

This was thin, basically transparent pasta delicately stuffed with whipped fresh cheese, covered just so in brown butter and fried sage leaves. It felt like what butter and sage were meant to do. Dress those ravioli. Nothing else. To then go straight into my mouth, and come out my finger tips numerous years later in a story on a random blog. It makes almost no sense how something so simple, so inconspicuous could be so memorable. Powerful. A dozen or so perfect bites. And then it was done. I may or may not have dragged my fingers across the plate at the end like a true heathen. I may or may not have also done that to the bowl of balsamic. I kept asking my fellow guests “are you going to eat those carrots?!?” grabbing for the silver cup before they could answer fully. Any excuse to dripple up more black gold. Keep the meal going.

But it did eventually end. I ate all the carrots I could strong arm away from others, the bread had dissipated like a dream, the ravioli only a memory. It was heavenly. All of it. Payment for a treacherous trip up (and back down) the hills of Modena.

Few meals compared. There were, of course, the plate of scrambled eggs I had in a hotel in Valencia, Spain, that to this day, I can’t explain. Pure alchemy was done that morning. A morning miracle. I’ll save that story for another day, I suppose.

Which brings me now to you. Any memorable meals to share? Whether it was the circumstances surrounding the meal, or the meal itself, please share. I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about food clear through tomorrow (x infinity). Can’t wait to hear all about it.

See you tomorrow, FOAS.