Forget Esperanto
Speak To Your Taste Buds
Berlin, May 2023
We tried to invent a universal language. It failed. Turns out we already had one – it’s hot, salty, and bypasses the brain entirely. Food is the only diplomacy that works.
The Failed Experiment
In the late 19th century, a Polish doctor named L.L. Zamenhof tried to cure human conflict by inventing a language. He called it Esperanto.
It was logical. It was politically neutral. It was designed to be the ultimate bridge between nations. And the world... shrugged.
It turns out, humans don’t bond over grammar. We bond over flavor.
Food is the true universal language. It is the ultimate icebreaker. Who needs the subjunctive tense when you can bond over a plate of something deep-fried and dangerous?
The Great Equalizer
Whether you are a Michelin-starred chef or a raccoon rummaging through a dumpster, the motivation is the same: Must. Eat.
I consider food to be a form of culinary poetry. But unlike poetry, you don’t need a degree to understand it.
Have you ever traveled to a foreign country where you spoke zero words of the local tongue? You point at a menu. The waiter nods. A bowl of steaming broth arrives. You smile. He smiles.
Diplomacy achieved.
In that moment, you aren’t a tourist and he isn’t a local. You are just two primates agreeing that noodles are a good idea.
Culture on a Plate
Food doesn’t just fill your stomach; it smuggles culture past your defenses.
In Japan, sushi isn’t lunch; it’s discipline. An itamae chef dedicates a lifetime to the pursuit of the perfect slice. Eating it is an act of respect.
In Italy, a meal isn’t fuel; it’s a liturgy. A three-hour ceremony of pasta, wine, and opinions about which grandmother’s recipe is canonical.
Governments try to build bridges with treaties and summits. They often fail. But put a taco truck on a street corner? Instant cultural exchange.
There is actually a term for this: Gastrodiplomacy. In 2016, the US and Cuba leaned heavily on culinary exchanges during their brief thaw. Why? Because it’s hard to hate someone when you’re sharing a plate of Ropa Vieja.
Flavour as Memory
Chefs use food to tell stories that words can’t capture. A perfectly cooked steak hits you in the reptilian brain. A specific slice of chocolate cake transports you back to your 6th birthday party faster than a DeLorean.
This is why the Silk Road worked. It wasn’t paved with good intentions; it was paved with nutmeg and peppercorns. Humans will cross deserts, fight wars, and sail into the unknown just to make their dinner taste less like dirt.
If someone creates something delicious, we don’t care about their politics. We just want the recipe.
The failure of Esperanto proves a simple truth: We don’t want a neutral language. We want a flavorful one.
Eating is the most shared experience of all – the only time we all shut up and agree on something.
So the next time you sit down to a potluck or a family dinner, take a moment to appreciate the miracle. You aren’t just eating nutrients. You are speaking the only language that has never needed a translator.
Zamenhof tried to unite humanity with grammar. He should have tried garlic. The universal language already exists – it just comes with a side of rice.