TOADTALK: Cooking Our Way to Community (Through a Pandemic...)

In the first TOADTalk of the year, Ms. Popa told stories about food as a connector.
Once a week, All-School Assembly launches with the Teacher On Active Duty (TOAD) sharing something of interest—a reflection, a story or song, a demonstration of some sort, or a simple poem. In this way, the community gets to know one of our own a little better. Our first TOAD this year was Iona Popa. Ms. Popa teaches English and Latin, is an advisor to sophomore girls, and coaches the Varsity girls’ volleyball team. Her TOADTalk, delivered during via Zoom, is featured below.

Before COVID, thanks to the amazing dining hall, the Popa grocery cart looked like this [image of shopping cart with ice cream, chips, and breakfast cereal]. You think I’m joking but that’s a real picture. Milk and cereal for the Los Padres boys, ice cream for me, chips for Mr. Popa.
 
But once you all left and the dining hall closed, things obviously had to change. And what I want to share with you today are a few stories of how the process of making food came to be central to our ability to build community during quarantine. The pandemic took many things from all of us, but one of its unforeseen gifts, at least for me, was quality time in the kitchen—despite the feeling of isolation, I actually felt very connected to my loved ones through food.
 
I’ll start with my most important loved one. He can often be found zipping around in a golf cart with this fluffy guy [image of their dog Scout]. Yup, the wonderful Mr. Popa. As you can imagine, we spent a lot…like a lot of time together in the kitchen this summer.
 
We made it one of our goals to learn to cook our favorite childhood recipes together, which means we made many many pounds of homemade pasta using an incredible vintage-looking machine my mom found on eBay. We even did a hilarious date night where one person had to cook blindfolded! (cute idea, but a little dangerous at points to be honest). And throughout all this, even though we were alone a lot, we actually felt pretty close to our Thacher family, because at different points we used amazing beans from the Pata’s family farm, Bellweather ricotta from the Callahan’s family farm, tomatoes from the St. Georges’ garden, and bread from Ojai Rotie, which is run by the family of one of my sister’s closest friends at Thacher.

But even beyond the two of us, food was the way to community on campus despite social distancing. We had a neighborly dessert exchange going with the Snyders, a group of us that walked around the track every day shared our favorite recipes a lot, and the extremely talented Ms. Leon was always baking the most amazing sourdough bread and sharing it with others! (Shoutout to her and Mr. Schuhl, they are a dynamite culinary combo—when we found some ripe loquats on a hike together, Mr. Schuhl made loquat jam—easily my new favorite jam now.) Despite not being able to get physically close to one another, we learned to show love in other ways: hugs came in the form of homemade scones, like the ones Mr. Popa made for the Carneys when Bruce was in the hospital (he’s all good now), or the gift of showing someone your favorite tree from which to pick oranges on campus (thanks Ms. Carney!), or that extra little something you threw into the bag of groceries you were picking up from Trader Joe’s for a friend. 
 
We also had socially distanced picnics around campus to celebrate birthdays and Fridays and eventually Tuesdays and…well, you get the picture. It happened a lot. And one night, we even did a virtual cooking lesson hosted by two women in Shanghai through Airbnb with some of our colleagues.
 
But as silly and as fun as all of these cooking adventures were, it was also important for me to keep in mind what a privilege it all was. Food is a source of joy for me, but for some, it brings mostly stress. This spring, Mr. Popa and I started volunteering at the Ojai Food Bank and distributed groceries to families in need. As we loaded bags of groceries into what felt like an endless line of cars at our church, people were very appreciative, but I’m sure many of them couldn’t fathom that this was their reality now, as their jobs had evaporated in the wake of the pandemic. Even before the pandemic, despite the fact that California produces nearly half the nation’s fruits and vegetables, one-in-eight Californians were experiencing food insecurity, which means they weren’t always sure where their next meal was coming from, and relied on food stamps and school lunch programs to feed their families. In Ventura County, that stat goes up to one-in-six. I was reminded just how fortunate we are to live in a world of security and abundance at Thacher, where we never really wonder about food beyond, “What will the dining hall be serving tonight?”
 
When I interviewed to teach at Thacher and asked the then-head of school Mr. Mulligan about the inherent privileges of a Thacher education, he told me that the hardest question he ever got asked about Thacher was this one: “How do you justify providing so much for so few?” I’m continually challenged by this question too, but instead of dwelling in guilt, I’m encouraged to live the answer by giving back in all the ways I can. I know I have work to do in this area, but I’m newly recommitted to it with the realization of just how privileged we are here in the midst of a global pandemic. I’m also inspired by those in our own community who are trying to make a difference, like the group of seniors—Skyler, Matthew, Sophie, and Karina—who took the initiative to start a nonprofit focused on delivering food this spring and Ms. Hooper, who is constantly leading and inviting our community into the volunteer work that’s happening in the valley. There are so many opportunities to give to those in need, even from a distance, and I invite you all to hold me and one another accountable in continuing to give of ourselves in ways that matter.
 
Thank you.
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    • Iona TOADTalk 2020

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