A Study of Empty Plates

If I were to ever create an art exhibit, it would be called “A Study of Empty Plates” and it would consist entirely of a series of photos or paintings depicting the end of a meal. The way tables, chairs, and plates look after a meal simultaneously gives us much information about what occurred here, and yet almost none at all.

Eating is a more intimate act than we give it credit for. Apart from the obvious eroticism of using one’s mouth (and potentially, hands) to indulge in the pleasure of eating and tasting - simply sharing food indicates closeness. Eating together is built on a sense of community. During humanity’s earliest times, eating was almost always done as a group for safety and wellbeing.

When sharing a meal today, at least two people have yet again decided to satisfy one of their basest instincts together and that often means there is a lot more vulnerability involved than a simple conversation without the presence of food. You could easily share a coffee or a drink with someone, but you might hesitate at the thought of lunch or dinner.

A meal means more time together, which also means we tend to slow down a bit. We’re more likely to listen and engage in the present if we are also fulfilling a need for ourselves. If we literally share a dish with someone, such as with home cooking or tapas style dining, it takes that intimacy one step further, providing at least one commonality for the parties to muse on. It’s been proven that people who share food tend to have better relationships, and that eating with others can provide a safe backdrop for sorting out differences. Even most religions regards ‘breaking bread’ together as a sacred act.

Therefore, a shared meal is much more than food. It is a microcosm of the relationship. To that end, viewing an empty plate, or better yet, a collection of empty plates, gives the sense of unfinished business. Even though the plates have been used, and the parties long gone, it lets you know how the story of this interaction began, but not necessarily how it ended. Two plates across from one another indicates that it could have been a catch-up between old friends. Two plates next to each other feels like there was more romance involved. A few shared plates could represent a family, while a few separate plates could mean a work dinner. And many plates might mean a party or major milestone was shared over this food. Even a singular plate gives you an impression of the person who most recently sat there.

The plates also let you know what was eaten, and how much pleasure it provided. Breadcrumbs collect between plates, steak juices wallow in the edges, errant fries are scattered, olive oil mixed with tomato juice pools in a bowl, a dot of red wine on the table cloth, chocolate smears a spoon.

Barely touched plates give a tense impression. The company was not enjoyable, therefore the meal could not be enjoyed. Messy plates have an exuberant quality. The food was enjoyed with zeal. A plate with just vegetables leftover might have meant a picky eater was present, perhaps a child whose parents had to plead for a few bites of green beans. A finished dessert plate with empty wine glasses gives a promising impression. The date went well.

But what the plates cannot tell us is what happened after the meal. The business conversation could’ve gone sour, two friends might’ve joined up with others for more fun, the date could’ve ended up back at her place. The plates can tell us that people met, satiated their hunger together, and were changed, even in the smallest of ways by this meal - but what they do with that change afterwards is anyone’s guess and I find this perfect center of the story to be the most delicious.

Even coffee and pastries can tell a story