What’s the universal language?
Some would say love. Or numbers. And they wouldn’t be wrong.
Both have brought us together and torn us apart. They’ve allowed us to sustain and grow over the millennia.
And they’re consistent around the globe. But that might be a problem.
You see, language is defined as much by its variations as by its meaning. By the differences between a Boston accent and a Minnesota one. By the chasm between French and French-Canadian.
The concept of love doesn’t quite have these distinct variations. And the world of numbers is standardized by definition. Due to these concrete realities, I feel that neither of them qualifies as the universal form of expression.
So, what do I consider the universal language?
Food.
Much like love and basic arithmetic, we need food to survive. But the way we go about satisfying that need varies greatly by palette, dietary restrictions and region.
Yes, much like traditional language, food certainly has its intricacies. A sandwich filled with sliced steak might be known as a Philly Cheesesteak, a French Dip, or an Italian Beef — depending on how and where it’s prepared. Although these dishes have a similar base, they’re actually quite distinct.
Our palette for these variations has spurred its own word — cuisine. And if we happen to live in a major metropolitan area, there’s a pretty good chance that we can explore much of what the world of cuisine has to offer without hitting the road or hopping on a jet.
Yet, this appears to be changing.
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I’ve lived in North Texas for the past several years. While there are many things to love about Dallas, the wide variety of food options is certainly high on the list. In fact, I’ve had everything from Cuban sandwiches to Cajun delicacies, Nashville-style Hot Chicken to Texas barbecue in or around Dallas.
Lately, however, I’ve seen those options dwindling. New restaurants in resurgent parts of town have abruptly closed up shop, and regional chains have shuttered many of their locations. Abandoned restaurant properties now line the highways and major intersections like an eyesore.
The bursting of the restaurant bubble has left me in a bit of a bind. I now have to drive further to get something other than fast food, Chili’s or quick-service Mexican fare. And if I have a hankering for something like the aforementioned Italian Beef, I might be out of luck entirely. (Despite the large influx of Chicago transplants in Dallas, Illinois-style eateries have struggled to find traction.)
At the same time that restaurant selection is dwindling, so are my options at the supermarket. In the past year, my grocer has pulled several varieties of cold cuts from the deli and stopped supplying basic items such as sausage buns, skirt steak and coarse ground beef. This has forced me to either improvise or drive to a competing grocer for supplies when making such basic dishes as fajitas, chili or bratwurst.
I understand the financial realities that have led to these cutbacks. Commercial rents in are rising — both in North Texas and across the United States — but people are still unwilling to help cover that increase by paying more for their meals or groceries. It’s an equation that doesn’t add up, so culinary variety inevitably ends up on the chopping block.
Still, I’m discouraged by these cutbacks. On one hand, it limits my options and makes cooking more challenging. On the other, it shows that our society doesn’t varied meal options.
Consider the implications of this shift:
- Food is being constrained into two classes: Widely accessible junk and highly restricted healthy options. If you don’t want fatty burgers, greasy pizza or gooey mac and cheese, you’ll most likely have to spend extra time, fuel and money to get something better for you — or even something different.
- Dietary issues are ignored. Despite the best efforts of the gluten-free Millennial revolution, cutbacks on food options mean those of us with actual sensitivities to wheat, dairy, sodium or processed fats often find ourselves struggling to find a suitable meal option.
- We’re lowering the bar. While we must adapt to dwindling food options, we can at least remember that there was once a greater amount culinary variety lining both the streets and the store shelves. But if the current trend holds, the next generation won’t have this perspective — which means it will be less likely to be reversed.
None of this is ideal. But while we’ve been complicit in our culinary demise, we’re not at the point of no return.
***
If we can see the value in our universal language and recommit to exploring it en masse, we can turn the tide.
That means swallowing our pride a bit, and getting out of our comfort zone. It means putting an end to our crusade to pinch pennies when filling our mouths — a losing proposition anyway, given the expensive health issues junk food leads to down the line.
It means committing to try new things and support the establishments that provide them to us. If restaurants see the cash register ringing, they’re more likely to thrive. And if items are flying off supermarket shelves, they’re less likely to end up in closeout.
Ultimately, it means using our collective voice to serve notice that we demand more options, more variety and more accessibility. The Internet age has given us the tools to do this, but we must do it together.
Don’t let our universal language suffer the fate that the Comanche, Welsh and Latin languages did. Our culinary future is at stake, and we have the booming voice needed to make a stand. Let’s use it.