Much hay was made in the media last week about Bill O’Reilly, who, on his syndicated radio show, “Radio Factor,” made the following comments about his pleasant dinner at Sylvia’s, a famous soul food restaurant in Harlem:
“I couldn’t get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia’s restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. It was exactly the same, even though it’s run by blacks (and has a) primarily black patronship.”
He went on: “There wasn’t one person in Sylvia’s who was screaming, ‘M.F.-er, I want more iced tea!’ It was like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people (who) were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun. And there wasn’t any kind of craziness at all.”
So that’s what he said.
Some pegged his comments as an honest (if clumsy) attempt to dispel stale racial stereotypes. Some just found his words jarring, insensitive and infuriating.
I felt a little bit different.
Sure, the guy obviously needs to get out more. To live in New York and never have visited Sylvia’s? That, in itself, was remarkable. Bus tours stop at Sylvia’s, for Pete’s sake.
But what really struck me was this: O’Reilly’s revelation was significant, both for him and for us. And it happened in a restaurant.
It didn’t happen during a debate, or in a classroom, or in a courtroom, or at a movie, or at the library, or while reading the paper.
O’Reilly was touched, and was moved enough to speak about his experience, in a restaurant.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Because to my mind, there is no more powerful reconciling activity in the world than dining together, no commoner common ground than food.
When different-thinking people sit down and break bread together, everything changes. Defenses begin to crumble, blinders begin to fall away, and what unites, for a moment at least, upstages what divides.
A shared meal is a shared experience. A leveling agent. A clear and present conduit to common ground.
And let’s face it, common ground is a rare commodity these days, especially in the media circles where O’Reilly holds court.
O’Reilly’s awkward comments were, at first glance, an invitation for some to mount the soapbox and exercise some holier-than-thouness.
But look closer, and you’ll see there’s a lesson. It is this: O’Reilly isn’t the only one who needs to get out more. We all could stand to do the same.
If we, to a person, made a stronger effort to eat in restaurants in neighborhoods across the tracks from our own, to try new cuisines and seek out unfamiliar foods, our collective understanding and appreciation of each other’s food – and by extension, each other’s humanity – would only increase.
And we’d be better people, and a better city, for it.
Supper can’t solve everything. Even I, with my fork’s-end view of the world, know that.
But cultural exchange is a cultural imperative, and there’s no reason that it can’t start with appetizers.
Let’s eat.
Tucker Shaw: 303-954-1958 or dining@denverpost.com
