Maybe social cohesion starts at the dinner table

I have been thinking a lot lately about how people come to understand cultures they feel distant from.

Especially now.

So much of the conversation around social cohesion happens from the top down: public statements, policies, panels and national conversations. Those things matter, but they can feel far away from ordinary life. They can name the problem without always helping people feel closer to each other.

So I keep coming back to something smaller.

Maybe social cohesion starts at the dinner table.

As an Iranian Australian, I know what it feels like for a culture to be spoken about in ways that feel heavy or far removed from normal family life. I also know that, for many Australians, the Middle East is often something they meet first through the news.

But that is not how people usually meet culture in real life.

Very often, they meet it through food.

Not through a speech. Not through an argument. Just a plate placed on a table.

Years ago, before I started Exotic Bazaar, I used to bring homemade Iranian food into work. At first it was just lunch. I would bring rice, stew, herbs, something sweet, whatever I had made at home.

But slowly, the kitchen would fill.

Someone would ask what it was. Someone else would want to taste it.

Then came the questions. What spices are in this? Is this what you grew up eating? How do you make the rice like that?

I started bringing extra because I knew it would end up being shared.

What stayed with me was how natural it felt. Nobody was trying to have a deep conversation about identity. But the food made people curious, and once people were curious, the conversation followed.

Food has a way of softening the beginning of a conversation.

You do not need to understand a country’s politics, history or language before you can enjoy something made with care. You can start with flavour, generosity, and the feeling of being offered something to eat.And from there, something can shift.

A dish can carry family, memory, migration, celebration and survival. But it can also just be dinner on a weeknight.

That is what makes it powerful.

When a family cooks food from another culture at home, enjoys it, talks about it and makes it again, that culture becomes a little less distant. The names become familiar. The flavours become less foreign. The people behind the food feel closer.

In Australia, there is a difference between respecting a culture from a distance and allowing it into everyday life.

Food helps close that gap.

A shared meal will not undo hatred. It will not fix antisemitism, racism or fear between communities. I would never pretend it can carry that much on its own.

But it can change the starting point.

It can make people less guarded. It can remind us that culture is not only something we read about when the world feels tense. It is also something lived quietly in kitchens, around family tables and through recipes passed down.

Maybe this is where we should pay more attention.

Not only to the big conversations, but to the ordinary moments that help people feel human to each other again.

A neighbour bringing over food.

A child asking what a spice is.

A friend learning the name of a dish properly.

Someone tasting something new and realising it feels less unfamiliar than they expected.

These moments do not look dramatic from the outside.

But they matter.

Because before people can understand each other deeply, they often need to feel close enough to be curious.

And sometimes curiosity starts with something as simple as what is placed on the table.

Gilava Pour is the CEO and co-founder of Exotic Bazaar.