When did you last sit down to have a meal without compulsively checking your phone for your social media fix? How long ago did you experience a chill time around a table and have genuine conversations with those you were sharing it with?

Posts rule our lives. Salience is our drug. Push notifications, celestial verses. Social acceptance is our creed. We live in a time when diving our souls into a screen and watching something happening somewhere else is more important than keeping our heads up and enjoying what’s around us.

Get off your phone!

Something’s outta wack when using our device is more important than savoring food and the communal experience of sharing a meal together.

A typical scene at a restaurant: A group of people waits to be seated. Some of them are on their phone. After the server takes them to their table, they sit and make themselves comfortable.

Those on their device before still have their eyes glued to it. Others look for their techy crack y se dan un pase de TikTok, Snapchat, IG, o lo que sea que haya en el aparatito.

The server pours everyone some water. Some say thank you. Then he or she (or they) comes back with menus and asks if anyone wants anything else besides agua. Everyone is on their phones except for a few who lollygag.

Lemme post this real quick…

Nobody reads the menu, and no decision is made on what to eat. The server comes back, and someone asks for a few more minutes. The same cycle happens a few times after that. The server’s patience is dwindling, yet they smile.

People finally order food. Drinks already came in, so naturally, inadequacies faint a bit. Still, some screens are on or a ring away from being pulled out like a strap on a DDGB.

Food arrives, the presentation is on point, and some put their algorithmic boxes down after taking a few pics for the Gram. Others are still at it, smiling at the screen instead of at someone around them.

Picture time! You can see it on the server’s face; it’s kinda melting by now since they are part of this scene every day for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and all the in-betweens. Different angles. Flash. No flash. With a friend in it. Without the friend. Moving the drink near it, setting it up. Los filtros. No tenemos suficientes filtros. They ask the server to take a picture. The request probably pops a vein somewhere.

Pretty please, reaffirm my worth. Illustration Eduardo Salles.

Everyone eats. Half-empty drinks and water glasses create layers of refractions throughout the table, yet these get sporadically interrupted by vibrations coming from the judgy accessories. Most check their phones to see if it is theirs. It’s called Phantom Vibration Syndrome.

We know for a fact that the lack of face-to-face interaction is messing us up, pushing us to undermine how we’ve connected for thousands of years, and seeding indifference between us, especially at one of the most essential communal gatherings we have.

If we can’t interact as humans when a device is around us, as a 2014 Virginia Tech study suggests, then we must reflect on how much more distracted, selfish, and stressed we want to be.

Un telefonazo pa’ la banda.

Thankfully, food is a unifier. At some point during the day, most of us sit with someone and provide our bodies with the fuel they need to function correctly. Until not too long ago, we shared knowledge and experiences, made critical decisions, and discussed pressing issues around food. Our gut had what it needed, and our brains were nurtured, too.

I will tell you about a local project hidden in plain sight to spare you from the previous deviation. Yes, I know, all this preamble to tell you a story about something else. Insert emojis emputadxs.

The members of this project set up a date and place for a multiple-course dinner. After connecting through social media or email, you get a notification of the whereabouts, time, and date of the experience; they ask about dietary restrictions and other info.

On said date, you must follow instructions to get to the place. I had to look for a red lightbulb.

“Sometimes people don’t want to follow the instructions,” Ivan Jacobo, founder and executive chef of 319 Hidden Kitchen, told La Phoenikera while some cool jams played inside Futuro coffee shop. “One lady left before we went to get her because she thought it was sketchy. Later, she heard from a friend who had experienced the dinner that night that it had been amazing and that her friends had ended up leaving with everyone at the table to dance somewhere.”

Once you follow the instructions and find your way, you don’t want to be that lady and miss the chance of a pinshi parizón. Someone greets you and takes you to your table, which ranges in size depending on the spot. The one I sat in was for about ten people.

If you get there first, as I did, you might have some time to chit-chat with the team behind 319 Hidden Kitchen, check out the art created by local artists, pick up the details of the setup, and vibe the playlist while Ivan or Luis Castelan give you a sneak preview of what they’ve planned for the night.

Just a few minutes before everyone feasts. Photo: LaPhoenikera.com

People arrive, and the anticipation lights most. Conversations organically start after they sit down. No use of smartphones is highly encouraged, and before I deviate to something else again, this is a BYOB situation, so don’t forget the sauce.

Everyone’s seated, and wine swirls inside their mouths. Ivan says that most guests are women because they are the ones deciding where to go most of the time. I’m one of three dudes at the table.

By the time the butter flowers with fresh rye bread from Heft Co. arrive, everyone has introduced themselves. No phones are out. People are being people. They laugh at silly things, find themselves in the eyes of others, and react to social cues learned since prehistoric times.

This buttery rose was amazeballs! Photo: Jairo Carreón.

However, awkward and silent moments become opportunities for some self-awareness, flexing, and gaining a conscience about others. People communicate much more when they don’t speak. Like the smile on someone’s face when the risotto passes through their left shoulder, they take the first whiff as it lands in front of them while candlelight illuminates it. The nanosecond when a person fixes their glance across the table and their lips prepare for a sip of wine. Or how their eyebrows move when they taste a specific set of ingredients combined for the first time.

Lights and sights at 319 Hidden Kitchen. Photo: @319hiddenkitchen

Ivan announces the menu for the night and provides a detailed summary of the ingredients for what everyone is about to eat. For him, though, it’s about so much more than food. It’s about the experience of sitting down with strangers and sharing something without paying attention to anything else but what’s going on at the table.

“I’ve worked at restaurants that charge over $400 per person, and something similar with the ones that aren’t as expensive is that people are still on their phones. No matter how expensive or tasty the food is or who they are with, they’re still on their phone,” Ivan says. “We provide the atmosphere so that you talk to people, and people leave thinking more about the people they met than the dining experience.”

At its core, Hidden Kitchen wants people to interact, have nurturing conversations with strangers around delicious food, get to know them and develop relationships. This is not an experience where you conceal your humanism.

The first course is served: sweet mint pea risotto with mushrooms, peas, asparagus, micro greens, and flowers. B O O M!

I’m not going to give you a bougie review of the food and babble about how it makes your taste buds feel or describe the magical state it takes you to. The dishes were well-executed and made by people who understand haute cuisine. They hit some high notes, and they were enjoyable.

I would go back to experience a new menu with another set of strangers because the people were the most delicious part of the experience. And no, this wasn’t a Hannibal Lecter type of engagement.

It looks like a festival nymph has transformed herself into a magical dish. I’d name this dish Te Fiti or the crown of Te Fiti. Photo: Jairo Carreón.

Before the second course, people are fully engaged with each other, attuned to the space and themselves, and share their opinions about the previous dish.

I recognized a face at the table but didn’t want to pull the “I know you from somewhere” line and not remember from where. Then I did it anyway, and the person thought so, too. Someone else said, ‘Of course,’ and made a monotone growl, obviously disapproving of my no-pick-up-line line and maybe disappointed it wasn’t aimed at her.

We have a funny conversation. She mentions possible places; I do, too. But in the end, none of them are the one. She says Vegas and some islands and names events and clubs I would never attend. It’s hilarious, and we shattered the ice.

Wine me! (insert drooling emoji). Photo: @319hiddenkitchen.

I also had a long conversation with the owner of a local marisquería that sells wild-caught Alaskan fish and seafood. He’s from “The Land of The Midnight Sun” and has been around fishermen since he couldn’t even walk. As a teenager, he worked professionally in fishing boats and became a tech worker after college. Now, he sells all kinds of great food in a shop in Arcadia.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool it would be to hold substantial conversations for just one meal (or, better yet, all meals), even if it’s not at a trendy concept restaurant. Maybe at a taco shop, or with el elotero, with friends and family, con propios y ajenos.

I’m not going to romanticize the fact that there was no smartphone use because there was—minimal, but still some. People were aware enough to take a snap of their course and then put the phone away. There was no posting, checking emails, or Tindering.

I think about the lady in front of me and the child developing inside her, receiving nutrients, and feeling the music, the laughter, and the harmony between the beings in that space. It must be a good experience for the baby ¿no?

Everything crispy is so much better! Photo: Jairo Carreón.

Here comes the chicken! I get some crispy thighs atop a mound of gnocchi sprinkled with demi glaze, shrooms, peas, lavender, pecorino, and chard onions. Everyone’s faces are yummied out! More wine, please! I love people’s berried smiles.

The third course was an Alaskan fish—I can’t remember the name—some edamame succotash, mango purée, and honey soy glaze. It was my least favorite, but that’s because I have a bias against warm fruit purées and fish. I ate it all anyway.

One peculiar practice at Hidden Kitchen is the effort to know its customer base. They record everything: food allergies if you have them, which ingredients you like the most, even what you left on your plate, or what your favorite wine or poison is; maybe they can recommend a pairing.

Just when the food coma is about to kick in, dessert comes out, and I lose my shit. It’s honey cinnamon espuma, caramelized banana, golden graham cookie crumbs, grated dark chocolate, and salted caramel ice cream. My favorite, how did they know?

I say gat dem! I even snorted the chocolate shavings. Photo: Jairo Carreón.

I’m stuffed AF; can’t even finish el pojtrejito (I wanted to write on a sticky note that it wasn’t because I didn’t like it, so they included the correct info on my dossier).

People’s faces express delight and sleepiness; all that food is taking its toll. Conversations have a softer tone and seem to go a bit slower.

People talk about their favorite course and the pairing of ingredients they enjoyed the most. After the dinner, it didn’t get wild or rowdy, people just chilled for a bit and then started leaving the same way they came in.

I heard some crazy stories of people hitting it off and having wild nights. My only wish at the end of dinner wasn’t to take a Lyft and leave with my new-found friends for some nocturnal adventure; it was that Ivan and Luis would show us the way to the Hamacas so we could take a mini nap. But no hamacs, at least not for now. Maybe in the future, guests will also be able to take naps with strangers […] cuddling is the dessert’s dessert.

Hidden Kitchen is not so hidden anymore. Ivan and the team plan big things for the future, including more charity events (which they do consistently). I heard something about a food truck that serves all kinds of crazy fried chicken and also Hidden Kitchen having a more permanent spot.

Ivan knows he’s not going to make a lot of money, but he wants to create a sustainable business that benefits everyone involved, including the people it feeds.

Whatever happens, I hope they still create spaces where people can fill their guts and nourish their brains.

Also, the cellphone restriction (which is not really a thing; they won’t take your devices and lock them in a box) brings us back to the importance of having face-to-face conversations, reading people’s facial expressions, knowing what they mean, and discerning voice tonalities.

At $65 a piece, this isn’t a terribly prohibitive experience (sometimes, peeps spend that on appetizers and a few drinks). However, more than anything, you’re paying for the novelty of always having a different set of courses and people.

It would be great, though, not to have to stage experiences like the one 319 Hidden Kitchen creates to be able to talk to each other. Maybe we should replicate this concept within our homes. Food for thought, anyone?

SHARE IT: