Sipping up the springtime sun in Port Coquitlam, my hands tend to itch for my signature warm-weather Starbucks: a venti iced passion tango tea lemonade, easy ice, three extra cane sugars. Run the numbers: there’s a good chance I’m yearning to pair it with a popcorn roll at Sushi On. If I’m feeling daring, I could hop a quick bus or two to Rocky Point in Port Moody for the best banana fudge waffle cone in town.
At least, that’s how it’s meant to be for most of the season. For now, though, I’m happily abstaining from all that. It’s Ramadan, the month where I and other Muslims fast — no food, no drink — from dawn to sunset. However, it’s also the second Ramadan which Muslims worldwide are celebrating during the COVID-19 pandemic.
Here in British Columbia, we’ve all spent the last year following the province’s limits on socializing to slow the viral spread. So before I started fasting, one of my few regular human interactions was stopping by a local restaurant or café for an outdoor snack, lunch, or coffee.
Now that that’s off the table for me, though, it’s reaffirming something: throughout this pandemic, food’s been one of my lingering lifelines to community.
"Freshly baked scones used to be a line on a long list, a moment I’d take for granted. Now, they tie together all the social oases of living in lockdown."
Isn’t it natural? Even with the latest “trusted ten” allowance, seeing friends right now is sketchy, inconvenient business, especially now that B.C.’s “third wave” has effectively scrambled the provincial government’s messaging on what’s safe and what’s not. In-person group events are obviously a hard pass, and you can only squeeze so much joy out of digital gatherings before Zoom fatigue bloodsucks it out of you.
Of course, we all have our mandatory errands and commitments. But in terms of leisure activity, we’re really skimming the bottom of the bag for options — and, much as I hate to go all neoclassical economics here, the value of something does tend to rise with its scarcity. Put bluntly: your cup of coffee means a lot more when it’s all you can leave your house for.
Freshly baked scones used to be a line on a long list, a moment I’d take for granted. Now, they tie together all the social oases of living in lockdown. Positive chatter at the cash register, tasting sugar and salt in the sun and the breeze. Miniature victories, sprinkled through a year-long parade of miserable news. Yet through the Ramadan fast, I’ve temporarily given up those socio-culinary moments and replaced them with personal, spiritual reflection. Silly though it might sound, in feeling their absence, I’m reminded to properly value their rising importance.
(I should acknowledge that I say the above will full awareness that right now, B.C.’s take on “lockdown” is awfully light, which creates plenty of its own complications. But that might be a subject to dissect properly another time.)
I’m not the first person to notice this, either. In particular, the salvaging social dimension of food and hospitality has drawn some attention throughout COVID-19. Last year, one Ontario writer coined the term “microdosing on socialization” to describe the positive impact of our small contacts with coffee shop workers, servers, et cetera. Closer to home, the Vancouver Sun reported on local bakehouses fostering a stronger sense of community in their neighbourhoods, after the pandemic prompted renewed efforts to link with locals. Most recently, The Walrus ran a piece called “The Lack of Small Talk Is Breaking Our Brains,” which cited research on how pleasant chit-chat with baristas can feed customers’ mood and feelings of community belonging.
This isn’t to romanticize essential workers, nor is it to paint the people working in food and hospitality right now only in terms of the jobs they perform in their communities. Rather, it is important to recognize the multiple dimensions of not just the value they create, but more importantly, the labour they are tasked with, now more than ever.
"Wherever you can, buy local, buy small. Look into ways you can provide aid to people struggling in your area. Keep pushing our municipal, provincial, and federal governments to do better."
Fasting, compared to local eats, definitely brings me a different kind of happiness. If anything, a large part of why we fast is to find discipline, fulfilment, and self-improvement outside the context of consumption. Yet Muslims also cherish the fast-breaking iftar dinners at sundown, which have their own role and significance, don’t we?
It’s true that even before COVID-19, I usually broke my fast with friends or family, rather than attend local gatherings of specifically religious community. Yet it can’t be denied that food and collective connection are linked in how Muslims practise faith during the holy month. Global News recently spoke to Muslims across the country about how dependent Ramadan normally is on people freely coming together. If anything, I think it’s fitting that my mind now turns to considering other relationships between food and community.
Now, much as personal revelations matter, they matter much more when they translate into some sort of actionable takeaway. One thing that stands out to me is supporting local workers how we can, in the foodservice sector and elsewhere. The latest circuit-breaker makes things hard for a lot of people in hospitality, especially given that the provincial financial support for those affected is unfortunately limited in scope.
Another is remembering that many in Metro Vancouver, regardless of their employment situation, would really benefit from food assistance of some kind. Stats Canada reports that as of May 2020, about one in seven Canadians living through the pandemic were dealing with food insecurity.
My advice: wherever you can, buy local, buy small. Look into ways you can provide aid to people struggling in your area. Keep pushing our municipal, provincial, and federal governments to do better in providing material support to those working in essential areas like foodservice — alongside any others in need — because individual consumer action has its limits, too.
As for me? As I type, I have a few hours of daylight to go. Among many other things, Ramadan is a time to uplift one another and do good in the world. I’ll be reflecting on what I can do to push forward with that.
I’m also not supposed to tell lies, though. So I’ll just say that right beside all these gripping, layered thoughts, there’s also the new oat fudge bars I’ve found at Costco, just waiting in my fridge for the sky to darken. Yeah — definitely got all kinds of things staying rent-free in my mind.
Got any thoughts on the links between food, community, and spirituality? Or cute local recommendations for responsible dine-out options? Feel free to drop me a line if you’ve got comments to share!