Comida and Community
By Anni Panici & Iain Corkhill
Eleven Arcadians gather beneath the crisp summer chill of August and a timber-frame shelter with three decorative rings, reminiscent of a slightly less spectacular Olympic symbol. Amidst home-cooked food and handcrafted bowls, they sing a German song to bless the meal. After ending the song with a drumroll and a celebratory “Woo!”, they begin the feast.
Dinner at Arcadia always has a communal element to it, which is one of the many reasons it is so sacred here. This communal space comes to fruition through intentional action. Two hours before each meal, cook teams of two congregate in the kitchen. (Occasionally there are teams of three because of our uneven number of eleven Arcadians.) With groups sorted out, the first team comes up with an idea. Usually the cooks will stick to the basics: pasta, roasted vegetables, beans, rice, etc., but always with a signature twist.
“We’ve been eating a lot of pasta recently, but we’re all learning,” Arcadian Autumn Nealis reports.
As the idea for the meal ferments, other Arcadians begin to grow curious about what their future feast will contain. “What’s for dinner?” is a question thrown around during breakfast over cozy oatmeal. Most often the cooks will slyly remark, “You’ll see.” Anticipation builds quickly in this community, but word spreads even quicker. More often than not, one person will catch wind of the meal idea and the information will spread like COVID when no one was wearing a mask.
Yet this is all lighthearted fun because, as practiced Arcadian chef Iain Corkhill will tell you, “As long as the meal is delicious, everyone leaves happy.”
These delicious meals can be strenuous to plan, though. Recently, our community has struggled with proportions. Questions bounce from Arcadian to Arcadian: “How much pasta should we make?” “Is this enough rice?” As any newly formed community would relay, no one knows the exact answer. As such, we often delight in leftovers for hungry bellies as we adjust to cooking for eleven as opposed to a solitary grilled cheese sandwich from our dorm rooms.
At 6:30 p.m., as the cooks put the finishing touches on their meal, they begin placing dishes on the table. If weather permits, we use our outdoor eating space and bask in the lush green trees as we feast. This natural environment reminds us to appreciate where our food comes from. Most of our dinners are sourced from a local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) run by Kent Family Growers in Lisbon, New York. This food organization allows us to allocate our resources locally rather than relying on distant farms and factories. Thus, our carbon footprint is lowered and we help the local economy. After all, the footprint of a 70-minute drive from Canton to Arcadia is a fraction of trucking oranges from California to New York. This sustainable practice influences the way Arcadians view mealtime at large. For instance, while reflecting on this experience with community dinners, Matt Ferland claims that CSA and sustainable eating practices “help us give back to the community in which we are existing.” Assistant director Will Madison adds, “It’s also just really quality stuff that tastes delicious.”
Just as our meals have roots we see and learn about, so does each Arcadian. Mealtime serves as a time for swapping not only delicious recipes but also hearty stories of our experiences and family traditions. We begin each meal with a quotation from the cooks. Often this is a piece of poetry such as Mary Oliver’s line, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” (from the poem “The Summer Day” shared by Grace Gargan). Other times it is a familial song like Anni’s childhood chant: “Thank you for the food we eat; thank you for the world so sweet; thank you for the birds that sing, our family’s love, and everything!”
After the quotation is shared, the feast begins. The table’s swelling roar and laughter fades into silence as one by one each Arcadian begins to eat. Often the realization that conversation has stopped sparks another wave of laughter, each tinkling note wavering light into the darkening sky.
As the conversation trickles in once again, gratitude is shared with the chefs as well as commentary on food preferences. During our mealtimes, many secret preferences have been revealed: Kim loves hot sauce, Will puts cheese on just about everything, Autumn N. despises chunks of tomato, and Elder Autumn will happily clean off seconds. As these perceptions of our food are swapped, our community is strengthened. We may all have different spice tolerances or ideas about tomatoes, but the space for us all to share and laugh is maintained. Much like our local ingredients, we are a community with shared roots; whatever happens to one of us affects us all.
After the meal is devoured, dish rotation begins. The chefs who prepared the meal are responsible for the dishes we dirty. Because there is no running water at Arcadia, we use a three-water-bin sanitation system to hand-wash dishes. The first bin is filled with soapy water to scrub with, followed by a hot water rinse and bleach dunk. Although dishes can be tiring after a meal, more often than not other community members pitch in to complete the task. Our care for our community is physically embodied in this act. We not only care for the space by scrubbing each dish, but we also care for our social community at large by sharing this responsibility.
As dishes hang on racks to dry and leftovers are sealed in the fridge for days to come, each Arcadian takes a deep breath. Though the next meal may not yet be planned, one thing is certain: the following evening will begin with a drumroll and a collective “Woo!” to celebrate the roots we feast upon and the roots we’re growing together in this place.