Public Tables

Eating alone / eating together

Sometimes we eat alone.
Not out of sadness — out of habit, timing, or the simple need for quiet.

Sometimes we eat with others.
Not to make a moment special, but because it happens naturally, when the day loosens its grip.

This table is a conversation about those meals.
About what changes when another plate appears.
About what remains untouched — appetite, silence, pleasure.

Meals that stay in memory

Some meals remain with us, long after the plates are cleared.
Not because they were exceptional, or carefully prepared, but because something happened around the table — a tone, a pause, a shared attention.

We speak about meals we remember, sometimes clearly, sometimes only in fragments. A detail returns. A place. A way of sitting together. We do not try to reconstruct the story. We let the memory come as it wishes.

There is pleasure here — in remembering, in listening, in recognising something familiar in another person’s memory.

Moments that do not need to be shared.

There are moments that do not ask to circulate.

They do not need witnesses, reactions, or framing.
They exist fully, like a well-set table before anyone speaks.

In these moments, nothing is missing.
Nothing is waiting to be improved by explanation.

We speak here of such instants — when everything is just perfect.
For you.

Moments that do not need to be shared.

There are moments that do not ask to circulate.

They do not need witnesses, reactions, or framing.
They exist fully, like a well-set table before anyone speaks.

In these moments, nothing is missing.
Nothing is waiting to be improved by explanation.

We speak here of such instants — when everything is just perfect.
For you.

Ordinary Comforts

Some comforts arrive without announcement.
A chair that accepts the body.
A sequence of gestures that no longer ask questions.
A familiar sound, neither distracting nor remarkable.

Here, we speak of these modest pleasures as one might at a table, after the first glass.
Not to define them, no to justify them, but simply to let them be present.

Small, unspoken pleasures

There are modest pleasures in daily life that rarely make it into conversation.
They are discreet, ordinary, and slightly intimate — the kind that do not ask to be explained.

Here, we linger over those moments.
Not to analyse them, simply to let them appear.
What makes a day softer. What creates a small ease. What gives quiet satisfaction.

The time of day we prefer

There is often a moment in the day that suits us better than the others.
Not because it is productive, but because it feels right.

For some, it is early, before the world asks questions.
For others, it is later, when things slow down and words become less necessary.
Sometimes it is not even a clear hour, but a small interval — between two obligations, between noise and calm.

There is room for a smile, for a quiet observation.
We speak about these moments as they come to us.

The time of day we prefer

There is often a moment in the day that suits us better than the others.
Not because it is productive, but because it feels right.

For some, it is early, before the world asks questions.
For others, it is later, when things slow down and words become less necessary.
Sometimes it is not even a clear hour, but a small interval — between two obligations, between noise and calm.

There is room for a smile, for a quiet observation.
We speak about these moments as they come to us.