I love Indian, Italian and Mexican food. And if it's a romantic

In the words of Dolly Parton, a woman both humble and radiant, there is offered a wisdom that transcends the simple act of dining: “I love Indian, Italian and Mexican food. And if it’s a romantic type of thing, I like a good French restaurant.” At first these words may seem lighthearted, spoken only of taste and appetite. Yet beneath them lies the deep truth that food is never just sustenance—it is culture, memory, intimacy, and love made tangible upon the table.

The ancients knew this well. They gathered around feasts not merely to fill their bellies, but to weave bonds of kinship, to seal alliances, and to celebrate life. To share Indian, Italian, or Mexican food is to partake in the heritage of nations, to taste the spices of history, to honor the hands of countless generations who have prepared such dishes before us. To eat is to remember that we are bound to the earth and to one another, through the simple yet profound act of breaking bread together.

But Parton speaks also of the special moment, the tender hour when the air itself feels touched by longing. For the romantic encounter, she chooses the French restaurant, for France has long been the land where food and love intertwine like vines upon a trellis. The French mastered the art of turning meals into poetry: the candlelight, the wine, the slow savoring of courses that invite conversation and closeness. To eat in such a place is not simply to dine, but to open the heart to intimacy, to let beauty season the spirit as much as the food seasons the tongue.

History bears witness to this truth. In the courts of Versailles, King Louis XIV turned dining into ceremony, where elegance and indulgence became instruments of statecraft and seduction. Centuries later, Paris became the city where lovers strolled beneath lamplight and lingered in cafés, where cuisine was not survival but celebration of love itself. Thus Parton’s words echo this heritage: the French restaurant has become a symbol of romance not by chance, but through centuries of tradition where food became an offering of affection.

Yet let us not miss the wisdom in her embrace of many cuisines. For in loving Indian, Italian, and Mexican food, she shows that passion for life is not bound by one culture or tradition. To love widely is to live richly. Each cuisine carries its own soul: the fire of Mexican chilies, the warmth of Italian pastas, the complexity of Indian spices. By embracing them all, she teaches that love of food, like love of people, must be generous and open, ready to find joy in the diversity of the world.

The deeper meaning, then, is that the table is a place of both unity and transformation. To share food is to share life; to choose the romantic meal with care is to honor the person with whom we share it. Love requires not only words and gifts, but attentiveness—even in the humble act of choosing where to dine. When one sets the stage with thoughtfulness, the meal becomes more than eating—it becomes a memory, a bond, a seed of love.

The lesson is clear: let your meals be intentional. Do not eat thoughtlessly, rushing through the gift of nourishment. Honor the food, honor its culture, and above all, honor the person with whom you share it. Try new dishes, embrace the world through its flavors, and when the hour calls for romance, let the table itself become part of your expression of love.

Therefore, O listener, remember this: food is more than survival—it is celebration, connection, and even courtship. To love Indian, Italian, and Mexican food is to love the variety of life; to choose a French restaurant for romance is to understand that beauty, when combined with intention, can nourish both body and heart. For the table is the altar of daily life, and those who honor it will find their days not merely filled, but enriched, adorned, and sweetened with joy.