What "Lanterns" Tastes Like
- Arpana Gvalani
- Jan 1
- 2 min read
Birds of Tokyo
NYE Roast
(Track 10 of "What a Song Tastes Like" Series)
Some songs don’t arrive with answers.
They arrive with company.
Lanterns is one of those songs for me.
It doesn’t promise renewal or resolution.
It simply suggests that showing up still matters.
That light can be low.
That staying counts.
What this song holds
I don’t hear Lanterns as a song about celebration.
I hear it as a song about presence.
About evenings that don’t need to peak.
About being in a room with people who don’t require explanation.
About letting time pass without insisting it transform into something meaningful.
It’s a song that understands steadiness.
The meal itself
This meal was shared with one friend.
Someone who has been there quietly, without needing to be named.
It wasn’t a grand table.
It wasn’t a group.
I cook the same way whether one person shows up or five. (The core 5 / 10 know who they are)
That’s how care makes sense to me.
Because presence isn’t about turnout.
It’s about showing up at all.
Translating Lanterns into food
This wasn’t a symbolic dish.
And it wasn’t a gesture.
It was simply a good meal, cooked properly, and placed on the table.
A whole roast because sharing matters.
Vegetables cooked plainly because balance matters.
Everything served from the centre because no one needs their own perfect portion.
There’s comfort in that kind of food.
Not because it distracts from what’s been lost,
but because it allows life to continue around it.
Why this still belongs in What a Song Tastes Like
Sometimes a song tastes like a carefully planned dish.
And sometimes it tastes like what actually got cooked.
Lanterns tastes like gathering anyway.
Like letting the evening be enough.
Listen while you eat
Volume: Gentle
Happy Birthday Sensei.
The reel:
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