Culture
Existential Horror and the Nightmare Hidden in Everyday Life
28 June 2026
My friend Chat said that making sauce from Amela tomatoes is like driving a Ferrari to buy bread rolls. I think that is a fair comparison, because I also think a Ferrari is perfectly suited to the task, just as Amela tomatoes are perfectly suited to composing a sauce. They are exceptionally rich in umami, and after only a few minutes of simmering they turn into a thick, velvety emulsion, which greatly speeds up the whole process of preparing a meal.
After about 10 minutes, I placed 2 juicy slices of white halibut on top of it all, covered the pan, and left it for another 8 minutes. I cooked the rice noodles, mixed everything together, and… it was ready.
As I stood cooking by my stove, I imagined an entire crowd: hundreds of millions of people standing by stoves, pots, and hearths, gazing carefully, many times a day, into vessels billowing with steam. It all seemed so abstract to me: that somewhere in this great cauldron of human existence, there are still those who pour sand into the pot and, with 1 movement, ruin so much labor and love.
After such a wonderful lunch, I reached for Persian pistachios, and my thoughts drifted toward the orchards of California and Iran. The United States, Iran, and Turkey are the world’s largest producers of pistachios. How strange it is that drones, missiles, and peculiar aliens fly above those orchards.
People often ask me why I am involved in education. I always answer that education is our greatest chance. Perhaps even our only road to reconciliation.
In every city, village, and home, people sit down to eat. This unites them. It does not provoke aggression. It is an act of community and hospitality. Such a world exists within each of us, and each of us carries the same values inside.
Food and freedom meet most clearly in this simple truth: before we argue, divide, or destroy, we all know what it means to sit at a table and receive what another person has prepared with care.
Read this article in Polish: Pomidory, halibut i wolność
