Food and
drink are the very human conceptions differentiating (and relating) the consumption of
solid things and
liquid things. Naturally, there are exceptions (from the human perspective);
soup is generally considered food, even when there is very little that is solid to a bowl of it. A
smoothie or a
slushie is generally considered a drink, even if it is thicker than many soups. But, again, these are anthropocentric considerations.
In the
animal kingdom, eating and drinking are acts of
pragmatism dictated by
survival. Animals consume food when food is available, driven by
hunger,
instinct, or simply the
opportunity. A
lion or a
wolf devours its
prey when the
hunt has been a
success, certainly without pairing the act with a deliberate intake of
water. A
zebra or a
deer likewise grazes on
grass or
leaves when food is abundant, drinking from the nearby
stream when thirst prompts it, and not as part of a coordinated thing we would call a "
meal." Water and food are separate resources, sought out as needed, without any inherent connection in timing or ritual. For animals, there simply does not exist a concept of a meal as a structured event where food and drink are consumed together in either socially or temporally defined context. Even
social animals like the
meerkat or the
chimpanzee eat when there is food for the eating and drink at unrelated convenient times.
But humans, ah, we humans. We have transformed "eating and drinking" into a deliberatively cultural act. We have invented
the meal. Just as
there are no pacts between lions and men, there are no appetizers amongst the other apes, no main courses for the
marmosets, no desserts for the
dingoes. No concept, in fact, of "courses" anywhere else in the animal kingdom, and no concept of food and drink as accompaniments to each other. The human meal is not simply
sustenance, but a structured integration of food and drink into a cohesive experience, one most often imbued with social, emotional, and symbolic
meaning. Though one may speak of making a
dog's breakfast of something, no dog knows there to be a time for
breakfast, nor
lunch, nor
dinner. But for humans, these are not just times to eat but eating
ritual. They define daily
rhythm and social
interaction, even cultural
identity. A glass of wine with dinner, a cup of tea with breakfast, or even simply a glass of water alongside a plate of
gruel reflects a human impulse to pair eating and drinking in ways which transcends biological necessity.
This
association, indeed, seems to have existed for as long as
history records, with even the most ancient of tales describing meals reflecting the presence of both what is eaten and what is drunk (usually wine; if you go back far enough it's most often wine). We may, naturally, find ourselves drinking without food, but food without drink remains a remarkable rarity. Perhaps this is somewhat influenced by
what we eat, no other animal (except some volcanic vent-residing snails) eating food that is
cooked and served
hot and thusly benefiting from a handy cool drink, and no other animal naturally eating food whose processing has rendered it dry (usually best for
preservation purposes) and thusly benefiting from water simply to wash it down.
And so the human meal, with its biologically novel dance of food and drink, reveals more about us that what our diet requires; it unveils a deep
capacity to incorporate meaning into
necessity. While animals consume to survive, humans dine to connect, to celebrate, to remember, ritually pairing the poles of solid and liquid, elevating courses into moments. From ancient feasts to the tables of
postmoderniam, the very concept of the meal testifies as to our unique ability to transform the primal into the profound. Something to ponder the next time your dog or cat or guinea pig watches as you choose which wine or juice or soda or water to pair with your next entree.