INSIDE A RURAL COLIVING IN SPAIN: COMMUNITY, FOOD, AND CONNECTION AT ROORAL

Food, like music and mathematics, is a universal language. Sharing and enjoying it goes far beyond what separates us (language, religion, or points of view) and brings us back into our shared humanity.

I enjoy cooking. It took me decades of blood, sweat, and tears to finally be able to say that sentence. After COVID-19, I moved to a rural area where cooking was a necessity if I wanted to eat, since there were no restaurants or Uber Eats anywhere near my village. In that setting, I developed a system to make the most of my kitchen. I am by no means an extraordinary chef, but I do have "buen sazón" because I am Mexican and we have a genetic predisposition for good taste, :p

So, I came to the Rooral coliving with excitement and curiosity about this part of the experience: cooking for a lot of people with different diets and spice tolerance levels. I thought this was going to be a good challenge, and who doesn't like challenges? Without them, life would be boring anyway. But little did I know that one of the things that transformed me the most from my coliving experience in rural Spain would come from the lessons learned in the kitchen.

Rural Coliving & Local Sourcing: Navigating Culinary Challenges in Spain

Let me get you situated. The challenge is the following: you’re used to a specific set of ingredients (wherever you're from in the world) that are easily available year-round at any big supermarket.

Now you are in rural Spain. There are two local stores with fresh, seasonal veggies endemic to Spanish culture. You have local butchers who specialize in all the different ways pork can be chopped, processed, and cooked, and a gentleman who comes twice a week with fresh fish from the coast. He usually sells what was caught and might be able to give you fish choices for more discerning palates if you ask in advance. Then there is the chicken van that comes once a week with rotisserie, ready-to-eat chicken from nearby farms to soothe your cravings. The ingredients also include an infinite supply of oranges and lemons, since they practically grow all over the town.

Beyond local sourcing, a second question triggered my anxiety: portions. If you are like me, used to cooking for two people or, on rare occasions, for a small party, you might struggle with scaling up. How many potatoes do I buy to feed 10, 15, or 17 bellies? Will five loaves of bread and two fish be enough for all? (I heard they sometimes multiply!). Will I have leftovers filling the fridge for weeks, or worse, hungry people at the end of the meal? Will I spend a lot of euros trying to feed everyone? How much is too much?

How about we turn up the heat? During the Rooral spring season, we had the following dietary restrictions (not all at once, but throughout the season): dairy-free, gluten-free, vegetarian, grain-free (no rice or corn for side dishes), and people who ate all meats except pork (and there is only pork meat in the pueblo unless you go to a grocery store in a nearby town).

At first, I used to love the trips Juan, Rooral’s founder, and other colivers made to the bigger grocery stores outside, where I asked for rice vinegar and dark chocolate for my recipes. But by the end of the coliving experience, I needed zero things coming from outside the pueblo to cook meals.

Community Living in Action: How We Organize Meals at Rooral

For Rooral’s spring season, we had a family meeting where we would decide the number of meals we wanted to have together, how many would be fully cooked meals, how many would be potlucks, or if we wanted to have dinner at the local bar together or cook in our own home kitchens.

We would map out the week’s restrictions to be inclusive of all bellies and then arrange cooking teams (usually a pair or a trio) as well as the cleaning team. The cleaning team was always bigger, as washing dishes for 15 people without a dishwasher is a massive task!

Overcoming Perfectionism in a Coliving Kitchen: Less Rigidity, More Flavor

I arrived in Benarrabá a week before the official start of the season to help Rooral's team to prepare the coliving spaces. That first week, we weren't paired with anyone; we all cooked solo for five or six people. I don’t even remember what I cooked for that first dinner, but what I do remember perfectly is the anxiety attack I got hours before I had to take command of the kitchen. I was pacing back and forth in the coworking space, changing the menu more times than I can recall, until another coliver offered to help ease my nerves. Turns out the perfectionist in me decided to say hello in the worst place and time possible! The meal was good, I think—that’s what people said. I survived and got the first notch on my belt. Meal 1 completed.

For Meal 2, I got paired with Sam from the UK, a former Antarctic boat captain and Tai Chi enthusiast. He is, practically, the textbook definition of a calm, serene, and relaxed man. My anxiety was about to creep in again during the planning stage, but then he mentioned that he was used to hosting big dinners for over ten people at his place in Copenhagen and suggested a vegetarian main dish. We got the ingredients from the pueblo store, and on the day of cooking, I learned a way to cook rice in 10 minutes. I served as his sous-chef: chopping veggies and following the instructions he gave me with absolute peace. I actually enjoyed cooking as a team for the pack! I began to relax; maybe this challenge really did have something to teach me.

For my third meal, I was paired with Nikki, a true kitchen wizard from the UK, and Iván, pure Neapolitan fire. Cooking alongside such incredible people made me realize something: even though I have my own system, I needed to let go of control and loosen up a bit. Since space was limited, Nikki suggested prepping part of the meal at her place while I started in the main kitchen. It made all the sense in the world given the extra stove and oven space, but without her there, I slid right back into my old bossy habits. I ended up giving orders to poor Iván on the exact size he needed to chop every single ingredient.

In the middle of the chaos, Iván stopped and said to me with total calm:

“There’s something very important we need to do first.”

“What?” I snapped instantly, in the exact tone of someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He took me by the hand and said:

“We need to dance.”

I froze.

“Now?”

“Yes!”

I burst out laughing and danced. Turns out it really was the best time for it because, as I would learn later in the village, it’s always a good time to dance. When Nikki joined us in the kitchen, we prepared one of the most delicious pasta dishes (both vegetarian and meat-friendly) of the entire season.

My fourth and final meal was a breeze. I was paired with my housemate, Helen, from the UK. She suggested a British staple: baked potatoes with various toppings. Brilliant idea! It was an inclusive option for all bellies, as we made a pumpkin-based filling alongside a huge salad.

I was in my element, cooking away, when Juan (who had witnessed my stress during that very first meal) looked at me and said:

“Look at you, running the kitchen like a pro! Now cooking for fifteen people.”

He probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but to me, his comment was pure gold.

At Rooral, I learned that trusting, letting go of my perfectionist side, stepping out of my usual system, and adding a bit of dancing make a big difference in the kitchen. As it turns out, you can learn so much about yourself while serving others through food. In the end, that’s what life is all about, overcoming challenges and stepping out of your comfort zone.

Cultural Immersion and Bridge-Building Through Food

There were so many memorable meals that I didn’t cook myself. For instance, a couple of guys cooked a paella for us! But there are two in particular that really stuck with me: 

We had one week where we didn’t schedule enough family meals. One night, coming off work starving, we planned on eating at the only restaurant open that day, but they were hosting a private event and couldn’t serve us. Nikki, our culinary wizard, sprang into action and started cooking for an army. I was at home making pasta (the meat-friendly version, since Nikki is vegetarian), and she told me to bring my pot over. When I arrived, she had managed to pull off a full family dinner all on her own, with pasta, a chickpea dish, and a spinach and orange salad. In the end, the whole family gathered for a completely spontaneous dinner. That's where I discovered that spontaneity and generosity are things I value deeply, and I felt grateful for that moment and for the chance to realize it.

Last but definitely not least are my housemates, Ran and Reut, from Israel, one of the most organized couples I’ve ever met. Before arriving at Rooral, they had already decided to cook us a traditional meal so we could get to know their country through its flavors. They bought fish and prepared it in a simple yet incredibly delicious tomato sauce that to this day I am still trying to recreate. They baked traditional bread, which is a whole story in itself since they had to borrow a local abuelita’s kitchen to pull off the feat! They prepared shakshuka and shared the history behind the dish, explaining that while it’s a beloved staple in Israel today its roots go back much further, with origins in North Africa and the Middle East.

They topped off the meal with an interactive dessert experience where we all made moufleta—a thin, crepe-like dough cooked directly over an open flame, stacked high, and eaten with butter and honey. We had a blast stretching the dough against the clock, moving quickly while Ran flipped them so the new ones wouldn’t burn.

At the end of that meal, hard conversations happened. I watched Ran and Reut sit down with a group of colivers, sharing their personal perspectives and striving for a deeper understanding of their different life experiences. What struck me most was everyone’s willingness to hold space for the discomfort. We didn’t solve a global conflict over dinner, nor did all colivers walk away in agreement. But sitting face to face is a gentle reminder that behind every different worldview is a human story worth trying to understand. We all left with full bellies, a deeper appreciation of a culture through its food, and the certainty that open dialogue is what builds real bridges between people.

The Universal Language of Food

Looking back on those moments, I realize that all those gatherings were deeply intentional: spaces where we wrote down our life intentions, skill-sharing workshops, meals cooked to the rhythm of reggaeton, electro, and flamenco, and even dishwashing sessions to the tune of a live trumpet!

I never thought my biggest lessons in personal growth in rural Spain would come from a coliving kitchen, but I am so glad they did.