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Eventidéen är fiktiv och skapad av mig under en härlig universitetskurs på engelska “Food and meal experiences”.

“Make it your aspiration to hear them say that only when they interact with you do they gain the deepest understanding of some part of themselves.” – Joseph Pine & James Gilmore

We as humans are driven forward by curiosity—to explore and evolve—or else we slowly die from the inside. Our brains are overloaded, occupied processing the created environment we surround ourselves with and sometimes we need to take a step back to restore—disconnect to connect.

The following text describes a report that aims to outline a meal experience for an IT group consisting of 20 individuals from different parts of the world. The meal experience will be held at the end of their training days and will be based on a whimsical fragmental story about the creator’s hometown, Staffanstorp, and its surroundings. This meal experience aims to help the guests relax, feel restored, disconnect from their busy occupations, and get to know the area better. The report will explore how a meal concept in a staged experience can bring the guests closer to this goal.

The Meal Concept “Disconnect to Connect” —A whimsical food experience based on a fragmental, whimsical story to restore the guests from overload

Hi, my name is Ema Tanaka and I work as an IT professional in Tokyo, Japan. Today is January 25th, 2024 and I am partaking in a three-hours-meal experience “Disconnect to Connect” outside Staffanstorp, south of Sweden.

As we reach a point two kilometers away from the venue, it’s already 6:55 p.m. and the temperature is one degree Celsius. A lady and a gentleman pick us up with horses and open wagons on the side of the road. As small snowflakes fall gracefully, the surrounding open fields are covered in a white sparkling wonderland. I put a fluffy blanket over my legs to keep myself warm.

We arrive at big iron gates and enter. We enter a cozy small house, resembling a Tipi, and are asked to leave our mobile phones in numbered baskets. Initially, I hesitate for a moment, feeling a slight sense of nervousness and anxiety surge through my body. However, I politely agree to disconnect for three hours and leave my phone in the designated basket. The next basket asks for our shoes and socks for a mindful experience. Next to it, there’s a fluffy moss-green towel and a small tub of warm aromatic water with a hint of thyme to wash our feet. Although I am familiar with leaving shoes by the door, taking off my socks in formal settings is new to me. The information about being mindful is encouraging, so I decided to trust the experience, leave my socks in my shoes, correct my dark blue suit, and wash my feet. As we step into a medium-sized empty room, I hear the sound of wooden floors creaking beneath my feet. There is a large dark closet with carved markings in front of us. We gather and wait for any sign, but nothing happens.

Feeling curious, I slowly approach the closet and open its doors with iron knobs. Inside, I see clothes and coats in different colors and sizes. I wonder if I should put something on. However, the closet goes deep and is dark. Suddenly, a quite large woman passes us by and says, “Good evening!” before entering the closet. We follow and push through, almost stumbling out on the other side. The fog is dense and my bare feet touch the covered ground, which is moss. It is soft, slightly wet, but warm. The dim light from an old black outdoor lamp sends small rays through robust trees in front of us. I hear bird songs.

The large woman, with big bare feet, is wearing a thick light blue dress with a white top. She sways her dark curly hair in a funky way, kneels, and picks up something blue and shimmery from the ground. I follow her lead.

The blueberry-shaped treat in my hand tastes intense like blueberries. Inside it is made with blueberry sauce, something cream, and white chocolate—heavenly. I barely notice the treats hanging from the trees, which look like small yellow apples. They feel hard. As I bite the treat, I realize it’s slightly frozen. The aroma of nature fills the air, and I take a deep breath. The caramelized treat has a pure apple flavor with a hint of cinnamon. The center is filled with finely chopped and mashed apples, carefully surrounded by a smooth apple and cream mixture.

I hear a soft sound, is it rain? The air is still, warm and dry. Suddenly, a breeze brings the scent of fresh bread and honey. The woman in front of us moves closer to the trees, puts her mouth around a leaf, and drinks in the large drops. She turns around, puts her hand on her waist, and winks with one eye. “This reminds me of being a child when I used to open my mouth to catch raindrops on my tongue. Don’t you agree?” I follow her lead and taste the dewdrops on the leaves. They are aromatic and sweet like honey. “Is this beer?” I ask.

I can hear the woman opening lots of bottles in a frenzied manner and handing them out. She appears to be enjoying herself and laughs heartily, almost breaking her neck, while wearing a contagious smile. “No, silly, it’s mead… MEAD!” she exclaims. “The Vikings loved it—the drink of the gods: MEAD! Not the expensive wine and champagne that the local heartless politicians in Staffanstorp drank, spending our tax money in Cannes—412000 kronor! But who’s counting, anyway?” She puts on some lipstick and fixes her hair. “Although they could have saved some for the rest of us… If I were a politician, my motto would be ‘Sharing is caring, just saying!’ And by the way, my name is Tiffany Person, a proud and knowledgeable citizen of the whimsical village, city… town of Staffanstorp!”

Tiffany grabs a large, soft coat and hat from the wall next to a big closet. On the ground are some large, fluffy boots. I follow her lead. As I put on the coat, it feels warm and soft against my body. The boots are airy and warm, reaching up to my knees. The hat covers my head and ears, making me feel wrapped and full of anticipation. We enter the place.

As soon as we step in, I am hit by an intense aroma, though it is familiar. The air is crisp, and even though it is not below zero, it is cold. There is a slight wind, and I hear the sound of waves. I notice sand underneath my boots. I take one step. My face is struck by something smelly. I reach up and touch. Dried/smoked fish hanging down in rows. A man and Tiffany laugh and playfully push each other to crouch down and see who passes beneath the fish racks first.

“Hold your stomach in Kajan—look at me. And we should probably be able to bend down and pass underneath!”

I follow.

Kajan and Tiffany place themselves on tree logs around a small fire that has a hanging pot. I warm my hands near the fire. They throw a few seeds in a bowl and when they pop, the man collects them and puts them in a bowl for each of us. Then, he hands out mortars. I stir the mortar and the seeds make a light crackling sound. The air is filled with the aroma of mustard. Finally, a large glass jug filled with yellow liquid is brought out, containing a smooth and pure rip. “This is cold-pressed rapeseed oil,” says Tiffany as she pours it on her finger. “It tastes delicious. Who wants to try it—from Staffanstorp? It’s a high-quality product, so make sure to taste it while you’re here.”

I gently raise my hand.

“Excellent! Tanaka-san!” Tiffany pours oil like a treatment all over my finger. The taste is full and nutty. “We need something sweet,” says Tiffany. “One can never have too much sweet … Kajan, you fetch some honey? Fresh from local bees, I think, maybe they should be sleeping by now? Kajan you know? Kajan—drop the book the course is over!”

A big jar of light dark, yellow honey is placed in front of us and we stir with tablespoons.

Tiffany breaks apart a fish, dips it in the mustard sauce, and tastes it. “Oh, jösses, jeez!! No! This is not edible, not like this Kajan!! Are you mätt, full? I’m not. Let’s keep looking for more ‘ordinary food’. In the meantime, grab a piece of bread.”

We get freshly baked flatbread from Tiffany, which is still warm. I dip it in the sauce, with a bit of smoked fish, and take a moment—freshly produced and freshly made—robust, savory flavor with a rich dose of umami and smoke—simple and divine.

Tiffany corrects her hair. “If it were up to me we would have had ‘äggakaka’—egg cake—a Skåne specialty.”

She lowers her voice and whispers: “By the way, come here. I have ‘litta’, some, with me. Made yesterday, never know if you’ll be full when you’re out.”

Tiffany takes small wooden plates from the ground and places them in our hands. “Stand still, as I have poor vision up close and it’s quite dark! She takes out a large cast iron pan. “It will only be a little bit, I didn’t expect so many. And surely no one else has brought some with them, have you? Anyone?” Tiffany looks out of the group. “No, that’s what I thought.”

A full spoon on each plate. “I have ‘litta’, some, pork left over from yesterday as well. As good as it gets.” Tiffany ladles a dollop onto each plate looking satisfied and jumps. “Oh my god, I was about to forget the lingonberry—had been the coup de grace!! Now we taste! Jösses! Jeez, and no cutlery either! Well, I have a spoon and knife—just like in Viking times. The rest of you can eat with your fingers—we’ll dry them later.”

I take a bite. The taste reminds me of a Japanese omelet. The warm juices from the pork, combined with the egg cake and berries, feel comforting—it’s a bit like being at home. In the absence of napkins, I lick my fingers, take a breath, and enjoy the moment.”

Behind trees a hidden closet covered in branches opens with a creaking sound—I aim to enter. “Wait, better I go first!” says Tiffany. “I probably know the area best…”

The open sky is above us and snowflakes are falling once again. I feel their gentle touch on my face, so I stretch out my tongue to catch one. As I breathe in, I smell the aroma of burning wood, something sweet, and fried—fish. We are near a large cooking pit, surrounded by tree logs, and Tiffany is eager for us to sit down and take a seat. “Finally more food—hope it’s enough! Did you fix it, Kajan?”

“Are you kidding me, on the last course I took…”

“That’s enough, let’s focus Kajan!”

Inside the wrapped foil from the cooking pit broiled herring is revealed—tastes sensational— baked with honey, rapeseed oil, and ramson. “You can use the mustard we scraped together before!” says Tiffany.

We crack open the shells of large egg-shaped spheres. The shells are salty. Inside, sweet baked sugar beets and chopped green onions. “There it was, Kajan, ‘ramslöken’, the ram onion, looked all day. Did you know that in the late 1900s, over 28,000 metal objects made of bronze, silver, and gold were discovered in Uppåkra in the Staffanstorp municipality? This ancient site is considered the largest and richest Iron Age settlement ever found in all of Scandinavia. Isn’t it amazing? Unfortunately, we can’t see it now as it’s too dark. However, I have a piece in the bag that I ‘borrowed’ from the History Museum in Lund, where all the objects are displayed. Tiffany is holding up an object that can fit in the hand. “I think it looks like Mickey Mouse, what do you think?”

“Oops, found knives and spoons too. It’s too heavy to carry in the bag. Cut a piece of beet and place it on the bread. Take a dollop of the sour yogurt with rapeseed oil and some more of that ram onion. Look, I take ‘litta’, some, fish, and then a bite of beet. Delicious together! Kajan, can you bring out the sparkling, standing, and cooling next to the field?”

Kajan looks around. “In the last course I attended, which was great, we were informed about the findings. You forgot to mention that they discovered evidence in these fields from one of the oldest beer breweries in the Nordic region, which produced the drink of the gods: mead.”

“Thank God for some alcohol!! Sweet sparkling mead for tonight, to balance the baked sugar beet. Kajan, do you want some? Or who will drive the horses? By the way, you can go back and forth yourself!”

I feel the warmth from the fire and listen to the soothing sound. The fire’s angels touch the sky. The sparkling mead tickles my tongue and goes perfectly with the sugar beet. I wonder what the surrounding fields hold and all the findings to be revealed. A sense of magic fills the atmosphere.

Suddenly, a big shot in the air—a rocket colors the sky in the shape of a heart, and I jump. Tiffany stands up: “Jeez, was that where I put the pieces from New Year’s? I would have needed them for the final later!” Two shots follow, coloring the sky and the fields below like lanterns in the night.

Kajan stands up. “Just like the train robbery between Staffanstorp and Anderslöv—Sweden’s only known one—pure Wild West. 1907 I think it was. Three shots and the victim survived! The loot was 5,300 kronor, which is equal to, let me think, 339,879 in today’s value. Then you could have bought yourself something nice, Tiffany.” Kajan licks his mouth. “I think the robbers had a coffee in Malmö before jumping on the train.”

Tiffany adjusts her coat. “I’m craving ‘fika’ when you talk like that, but something local and sweet, not too extraordinary, something more ordinary, but still a bit so and so.”

Behind us, lanterns illuminate a covered path with round tables leading to a glass-domed room.

Each table has small candles and everything we have been eating and drinking tonight is on display. I walk to the last round table—sugar beet yogurt ice cream with roasted chopped hazelnut in honey, salt pearls, small spheres of unsweetened blueberries, and grounded ramson placed in small cones in a circle. In the middle of the table—moss with the raw products on display. I touch it with my bare hands. I pick a cone and walk further down to the big glass dome with comfy seats. I lean and feel the heated backrest. It is silent, we hear the wind and watch the snow play in it. I move my feet in the boots pull the coat closer and take a bite. The combination excites me—ordinary yet whimsical. The complete silence is deafening—I feel grateful.

“Is the sugar mill still in operation Tiffany?” says Kajan.

“Are you kidding Kajan, it was opened in 1885 and closed looong before we were born, sometime in the 60s, I think. Pretty sure it was 63. My daughter Twilight just bought an apartment in the area—gorgeous and practical—with a view over ‘Kråkparken’ to CityGross.”

“Well, Kajan, I’m on my way home, going to warm up beef stew for Twilight who just finished her shift at the charcuterie in CityGross. Does anyone need a ride? I’ve parked the horses and carts nearby, but then we go now, it’s almost 10 p.m. and the snow is still falling.

We drive out through the iron gates, get our shoes and mobiles and suddenly we are back where we started. What an experience! As Tiffany mentioned—Staffanstorp and its surroundings feel whimsical but exciting and very tasty. I close my eyes and see the rolling yellow fields. In a few months, they will also bloom in Japan…

“Damn, I can’t find your phone Kajan. We’ll take care of it tomorrow. You won’t need it this week anyway. Too much screen time. And, you look a little tired, you need to disconnect more to recharge.”