Impact Stories: Food and Community
Sharing Secrets
On the first day of the training we went to the farmer cooperative and cooked together, led by Paula, who explained three recipes in careful detail. I’ve always wanted to learn more about Italian cuisine, and doing it like this—with new people to chat with around a huge table—felt wonderful. Wanting to be sure I could recreate the dishes at home, I started jotting notes on my phone. Paula must have noticed, because she came over and simply said I could take a picture of her original recipe. That was special: I’d always assumed those old-school recipes were a bit secret, yet Paula immediately offered to share what she knew. Her openness set the vibe for the whole training.
Later I realised her gesture was a live example of a skill-swap circle, a four-step peer-learning routine I can draw on back in Mannheim:
- Show – one person demonstrates a practical skill while others watch.
- Share – observers document the details with notes, photos or short clips.
- Swap – another participant takes the lead, so knowledge flows in multiple directions.
- Seal – before everyone disperses, the group bundles what was captured and sends it to all participants.
Paula’s quick invitation covered the first two steps; the rest would have followed naturally if time had allowed. Remembering that sequence helps me frame similar moments at home: whenever someone offers know-how, I can guide the circle through sharing, swapping and sealing so the learning keeps traveling—just like Paula’s recipes.
Tom Woschitz, Starkmacher e.V. (Germany)
A LITTLE DIARY
Monday, 10/6
Tomorrow, our adventure begins, a week of meetings and encounters.
To me, encounters with so many persons always sparks some fear – I am a solitary person.
I am writing these lines to compensate for my difficulties in communication.
During our lessons, I hope to have with me someone who translates what I say even though I know that it cannot substitute for direct communication.
So I have prepared these reflections as an introduction. I will always be glad to respond to all questions, but for now, I will start like this:
Welcome. It will be a pleasure for me to work with you.
Anytime that we talk about food, I cannot remain neutral.
Let me try to explain why:
I was a girl when the Berlin Wall fell, when Nelson Mandela was released from prison and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was constituted, when France witnessed the fracture of the three founding supports of its republic (liberté, egalité, fraternité) and was not able to suppress the uprisings for equal rights by the residents of the banlieue, the periphery inhabited by French citizens treated as second class because they came from the ex-colonies.
And in Italy at that same time, we were struggling with the consequences of state-sponsored crimes, and a whole generation (my own) was facing adult life with a sense of unease about the future.
Some of my friends became terrorists, others became heroin addicts, and some are now part of the current ruling class of my country.
In the same years, we also were aware of the dissolution and genocide in Yugoslavia, separated from our Italian beaches filled with rowboats and air mattresses, frequented by so many Europeans, by only a smallish sea, and these events were not easy to witness.
I was in Sarajevo during the siege, and I cried at seeing people who were malnourished, at the lack of doctors and medicines at the hospitals, but above all at the destruction of the coexistence of citizens of different ethnic group and religions.
But in those years, food had yet to present itself as a question. One went on a humanitarian mission taking along what had been donated, and we were not “critics” of the origins of the food that had been donated. I myself had brought to those places bars of carnitine supplement marked Vietnam 1967 without taking note of the problem.
Because then a sense of belonging still remained – to a land, a language, a country. And then everything melted away.
For this reason, feeding oneself may be the only action left still shared universally. In a time that seeks to separate and isolate each person from everyone else by means of religion and of wealth, the affirmation, “I’m hungry,” is a valid universal experience and therefore understandable to every human being (and not only to human beings) here on Earth.
Now, food is our unifying language.
A small detour, with some data: Some 47 percent of the surface of the planet is used for agricultural production. Two-thirds of world agricultural production is by small farmers who, however, can provide for only 10 percent of the population. Yet here I must stop because these data have to be analyzed and placed into a context, involving new research that I hope that some of you will be able to do fairly soon.
For this reason, food is a powerful economic tool through which we can contribute to change.
Going shopping for food today means deciding which economy to support, because eating is an action that is economic and political. Refusing to take part in campaigns (often well financed) to harvest food that hasn’t been sold has a similar value: Not negotiable.
For our meetings, during which we will create a series of recipes, I propose that you use our practices to answer some questions:
–Does the dish that I am cooking contribute to creating links with the persons to whom I am offering it?
–Does learning many ways of cooking the same ingredient taking into account its different characteristics contribute to supporting small local producers as well as respect the seasonality of the foods?
–Does using ingredients that are less well known support the creation of more varied food offerings and, at the same time, is sustainable?
–Does attention to the esthetic side of dish add value to recipes that are “poor” and simple?
These are the questions that I think about every time that I write up a menu for a catered meal, for an event, and for a dinner with friends at home.
If you like, I propose to answer, recipe by recipe, and to add your questions, too.
Tuesday, 11/6
First day. Meeting in the country, where, finally, numbers become names, and thanks to the game with Bran, names connect with faces.
We prepare a big table filled with vegetables to clean, and then we start to prepare three simple sauces as well as watch others at work. And to feel affection toward them.
I am thinking, for example, of Tom, who follows me into the kitchen and seeks to know “how it’s all done.” I was struck by what he had to say, above all at his surprise at the generosity of “old school” cooking.
A Tom, I would like to say that old schools and new schools do not exist – what exists are persons who behave according to an ethic, if we’re lucky. Yet when I think back on Tom and his notes, for me it is truly a good memory.
Wednesday, 12 / 6
We are in the city, back in our lab, and the cooking team set up by the program is not functioning. Why? Because cooking requires time, to get to know each other, above all.
Because every time that we mix foods, sentiment and memory are mixed in, too.
Cooking is rather slow, and if one doesn’t respect this side of its nature it becomes the stereotype that we see every day on television channels and in social media, where the “winner” is the fastest.
The lesson on cooking in preserving jars goes well, but even this is a good chance to understand a bit more about the other people. We are dealing with a technique that is anti-modern, in which slowness and care with details are the determinants – almost a hymn of anti-productivity. Instead: To resilience, to reduction. And I have noticed enjoyment and suffering, and other little hints to let me understand who it is that I have in front of me.
Saturday, 15/6
I group these three days together, because I retain some impressions and observations that recurred:
–The approach to the moment the meal is ready: Enthusiastic, timid, distracted, three behavioral categories that help once more in understanding the intimate side of someone;
–The kitchen that becomes from some a familial space and, therefore, a place for confidences and personal stories;
–For others, the kitchen remains a space “of service,” without a soul and a history, and that’s fine too, because if we were all on the same wavelength we would have resolved all of the world’s problems by now.
–The handling of the leftovers of the food from the days before: As Gusto Del Mondo, we are very eager to deal with and valorize this side of things, and so it is. The culture of gastronomy from which we come is reinforced, and it even makes me think that it can be shared and spread.
16/6
We return to the countryside, and we taste a lunch prepared by our friends at Agricoop. Then the groups separate, in one, the “performers,” and in the other, those preparing ingredients on skewers.
Two parallel experiences that joyously join at the end of our event.
17/6
A day of farewells: I don’t recall the food that was prepared. I recall instead so many smiles (maybe too many, but all of them for good reason), hugs and kisses and goodbyes.
And this is how I am awaiting our next encounter, where I will prefer what I learn to what I teach. I would like to go to the market to learn and to be surprised by ingredients I have never seen, and then in a family kitchen, to learn the gestures that create a recipe – and then to have a seat on a floor made of earth, legs crossed, to listen to stories. Of women, of men, of all kinds of creatures. Who knows…
Paola Nervi, Eufemia (Italy)
From Leftovers to a Feast – A Lesson in Connection and Sustainability
Picture this: A bustling networking event where young aspiring entrepreneurs and experienced mentors gather to exchange ideas and inspire one another. Discussions revolve around community mapping, innovation, and the future of local social enterprise. There is an energy of excitement and possibility. But as the event winds down, another reality emerges—untouched salads, leftover bread, uneaten pasta. The question arises: What happens to all this food?
This moment presented an opportunity—one that went beyond language barriers and cultural differences. Among the participants of the Seeds4Youth exchange was Paula, an Italian youth worker who, though reserved and not fluent in English, carried with her a deep, inherited wisdom about food and waste. She had grown up in a time and place where wasting food was simply not an option.
The next day, while another activity was planned, a few of us—Sergio, Marion, Stefano, Pedro, and I—remained behind. The conversation turned to what could be done with the leftovers. What started as a practical concern soon became something more: an invitation to engage, create, and connect in a way that had little to do with words and everything to do with shared experience.
Paula’s approach to food was shaped by necessity and the knowledge passed down from her parents, who had endured hardship in post-war Italy. To her, waste was not just impractical—it was unthinkable. Without lengthy explanations, she demonstrated how simple acts of sorting, repurposing, and reimagining could transform what might have been discarded into nourishment.
This intergenerational wisdom stood in stark contrast to the modern world’s approach to food. Today, mass production and global supply chains have distanced us from the origins of our meals. We discard food without thought, forgetting the labour, resources, and history behind each bite. Overconsumption has become routine, leading to unnecessary waste, environmental degradation, and a growing divide between those who have more than enough and those who do not.
That afternoon, what unfolded was a salvaging of leftovers, a testament to the power of creative thinking. With no set plan, Paula led us in transforming what had been left behind. Every ingredient was considered for its potential—noodles were separated and reimagined, salads given new life with surprising combinations of textures and flavours. This process highlighted how creativity is not limited to art, performance, or design; it is a fundamental part of life. The ability to see new possibilities, to work within constraints and still create something meaningful, is a lesson that extends far beyond the kitchen.
Marion and I, eager to learn, asked questions, though not everything required words. Marion, thankfully, had some knowledge of Italian, but Paula demonstrated through gestures, movement, and the quiet efficiency of her hands. There was a rhythm to our collaboration—chopping, stirring, sharing—that spoke louder than speech.
This was a moment of true exchange, where knowledge passed across generations, cultures, and experiences, showing that learning often happens in the simplest of interactions. It was an unexpected and shining example of resilience, and how expertise passed down through experience holds the potential to reshape our understanding of the world.
As someone who has dedicated my life to social activism, sustainability, and working in communities where people have very little, I saw in Paula’s actions the embodiment of what I strive for in my own work. I have spent years in Cape Town developing eco-friendly designs, upcycling materials, and ensuring local production to reduce our environmental footprint. Yet, at that moment, I felt a keen appreciation for how much more there is to learn.
Paula’s approach reminded me why I started my journey in sustainability—not just to reduce waste, but to shift mindsets. It is about recognising that everything we touch, consume, or discard has a history, a story, and a potential second life. The true value of this encounter lay not only in the delicious food that was saved but in the deeper lesson it carried—seeing abundance in unexpected places, finding worth in what might otherwise be overlooked.
This occasion reinforced something essential: the importance of sharing stories, listening to those whose voices we may not hear at first, and being mindful that impact is not always loud or immediate. Sometimes, it is found in the quiet wisdom of someone who sees the world differently, in the hands that prepare a meal, in the understanding that every resource, every encounter, every moment carries precious worth. What could have been thrown away became a teaching opportunity in sustainability, human connection, and the richness of perspectives we often overlook.
Paula reminded me that sustainability is not a modern trend but an ancient wisdom, a way of living lost in the rush towards convenience. We are not separate from the food we eat, the land that nourishes us, or the hands that harvest and prepare our meals.
The question is: How do we bring this awareness into our own lives? How do we honour what we have? How do we learn from those who understand the true value of resources in a way many of us never have to?
For me, as someone walking a path of eco-conscious creativity, this experience solidified my own mission. In my work, I strive to source locally, reduce waste, and empower communities through healing arts and sustainable practices. But encounters like this one, with someone like Paula, reiterate the deeper reasons why I do what I do. Sustainability is ultimately about connection—about recognising the long chain of hands coming together in the creation of a meal.
Perhaps the answer lies in slowing down, in paying attention, in recognising that the wisdom of the past can guide us towards a more mindful future. And maybe, just maybe, it begins with something as simple as a shared meal.
Zaid Philander, Amava Oluntu (South Africa)
Community Brunch
On Sunday, May 18, I got up early to pick acacia flowers around our living space. It’s acacia flower season where I live in France, and in Mannheim too! As planned, Theresa joins me to make acacia flower fritters. No one here has ever eaten them, and I’m happy to introduce them to what is close to a spring tradition in my home. At 10 a.m., we meet at the Neckerstadt community center to share a big brunch.
This large brunch is free, without registration, and open to all. Each person or organization that wishes to participate brings a dish of their specialty to share. The buffet is enormous and delightful. The tables are full of residents, volunteers, and social workers. The audience is intergenerational. I wonder if these people are there for the free food, or to connect and enjoy a friendly moment. Regardless, the sun and good humor are there.
I chat with the event’s volunteer organizers. They organize a few of these events each year, as well as social and administrative support services for those who need them. They don’t speak a word of English, unlike the social workers I met in the previous days. This makes the exchange all the more lively, and allows me to escape the introspection associated with mastering the international language.
Ultimately, events like this, which simply invite people to come and share food, can achieve much more than meetings or complex projects developed by managers from the non-profit sector, which I consider myself a part of. The weather is nice, and adults and children who don’t speak the same language are drawing with chalk on the ground. People are laughing at my acacia fritters, and I believe that the connection is there.
Laurelou Pelletier, L’Engrainé (France)
Food is diversity
Food is a basis. Food is an expression, a language, a feeling. Food is universal, food is individual. Food brings people together. Food connects!
Eating, or rather the intake of food, is a basic human need. But we humans have managed to turn this basic need into an art form. Food resonates with love, passion, cross-generational knowledge, appreciation, cultural influences, improvisation, planning and creativity. Food has the potential to be so much more than just nourishment. SEEDS made me realize this potential once again and, above all, showed me how valuable this topic can be in educational work. Whether in a national or international context, whether working with marginalized, vulnerable or privileged target groups. Whether as a workshop or a support measure, food offers a wide range of opportunities to bring people together and make them strong. There is something magical about food and we should make the most of it!
Nicolas Bosch, Starkmacher e.V. (Germany)