We Need Better Icebreakers: 'What Do You Do?' Is Outdated

Sunday Supper Newsletter

Welcome to Sunday Supper!

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Prayer - Dear God, Help my conversations be seasoned with salt, handled with care, and grounded in love. Amen.

Affirmation - I choose to connect meaningfully with others.

Gratitude - I am grateful for meaningful interactions and conversations.

I am grateful for every reader, subscriber, commenter, and those who share this newsletter with others.

The Main Dish

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We Need Better Icebreakers: ‘What Do You Do?’ Is Outdated

Fall leaves floated across the paved road that leads to my husband’s office headquarters. He started his new job last month, and here we are, driving to the company’s annual Happy-Work-Giving-Mas party.

As we approached the office, the setting sun illuminated the glass-enclosed building and the company sign, which reads “GeneExpresh.” Sweat seeped from my palms as we parked, and I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves.

My husband opened my car door and reassured me, “Everything’s gonna be ok, sweetheart.” He knows I don’t like social events with strangers, and he knew what to say to lessen my anxiety.

We walked hand-in-hand to the building. The outdoor speakers played “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” and when we entered, the indoor speakers played the same tune.

The office smelled like fir, but I didn’t see any candles. The fragrance may have come through a scented vent filter.

“Greg, it’s great to see you. Welcome!” A man dressed in a perfectly tailored blue suit and a pair of brown wing-tip dress shoes enthusiastically greeted us at the entrance.

“Great to see you, too. Matt, this is my wife, Janet.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt.” I tried to shake his hand, but Matt interrupted.

“We’re family now.” He unexpectedly hugged me. He wore Baccarat Rouge.

“So, Janet, what do you do?” he asked.

I’ve never liked this question. The “What do you do?” really means “What do you do for work?”

I’m a defense attorney, and I am damn good at what I do, but that question is often a measure of someone’s worth. What if I said I am a crypt keeper, a madam, or even a professional cuddler?

I knew I couldn’t answer with, “I fish with my children, and watch SEC basketball. I shop in filthy thrift stores, where I find the best vintage jackets, and run 5 K races whenever I get a chance.”

I grew up in the country, where the “What do you do?” question is not the most frequently asked icebreaker, but rather, “Who yo’ people?” The expected answer to this question is a series of last names.

I had a standard answer. “I’m kin to the Graggs, the Ambroses, and two sets of Smiths, the ones in Lacey and the ones in Montongo.” Good, bad, or indifferent, the family names tell the questioner more about who I am, which matters more than what I do.

“Oh, I know your people” is the most common response from the questioner, and where the conversation goes from there is totally dependent on what that person knows about the family.

After a three-second pause, I responded to Matt.

“I’m a writer, but I am also an attorney.”

Matt smiled, “Nice to meet you. Have a good time. The bar is open.”

“Thank you!” we responded.

For the next twenty minutes, Greg introduced me to more people than I can count. Each one asked the same question, “So…What do you do?”

I grew increasingly frustrated with each ask. My four-inch heels started to carry the weight of my frustration, so I excused myself from Greg and found a seat at the bar. A massive ice sculpture of a turkey, menorah, and Christmas tree flanked the bar. The sculptor managed to create a cohesive structure that incorporated all three elements.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender asked. She wore a black, fitted tuxedo, a high ponytail, and matte red lipstick.

“Thank you!” I replied.

“Huh?” She looked confused.

“Thank you for not asking me what I do. You’re the first person I’ve talked to tonight that hasn’t asked me the same question.”

“I’ll have a chocolate martini,” I added, feeling a sense of relief.

“Coming right up! By the way, I’m Keisha.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Janet.”

Keisha brought me my drink. “So what do we talk about instead?” she curiously asked.

I chuckled and sipped my delicious martini. “How about we come up with better icebreakers. Like… ‘If you could be any fictional character for a day, who would it be and why?’”

“Now that’s a question!” Her eyes lit up. “I’d be Jean Grey from X-Men. She reads minds. I deal with a lot of people and I want to know what they’re thinking.”

I laughed and gave her a fist bump.

“Great choice! Do you know what I’m thinking?” I gave her no time to respond. “I like this conversation.”

“Well, I’d probably pick someone adventurous, like Carmen Sandiego, and travel the world!” I answered.

“Or what about the question, ‘What’s the weirdest food you’ve ever tried?’” she enthusiastically suggested.

“Yes, girl,” I responded as the tension in my shoulders started to ease. “Or, if you had a theme song that played every time you walked into a room, what would it be? For me, ‘She’s a Bad Mama Jama!’” I did a quick body roll, and she joined in.

“Right? We need to start a revolution against the boring small talk,” she said, her laughter bubbling up. “How about we teach a class on this?”

I raised my glass to her. “To better questions and good laughs!”

“Cheers to that!” She grabbed an empty glass and clinked it against mine. For the first time that evening, I felt relaxed, and it wasn’t because of the martini. I finally found someone to connect with without pretension.

As I took a sip of my martini, I realized that real connections come from asking meaningful questions. My conversation with Keisha made me feel better; my anxiety miraculously disappeared.

Janet reached under the bar and grabbed a business card.

“If you ever need a real bartender. Give me a call.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

Too often, superficial exchanges dominate introductions. My quick conversation with Keisha reassured me that introductions don’t have to be shallow.

I left the bar, found Greg, and told him about the amazing bartender I met. I decided that if anyone else introduces themselves to me tonight, I’d ask the first question.

“We Need Better Icebreakers” is a work of fiction.

Pot Likker and Cornbread Crumbs

There’s flavor in the small things.

Asking “What do you do?” is not the only way to start a conversation with a stranger.

Table Talk

Join the Conversation

What is a good conversation starter? If you had a theme song that plays when you walk into a room, what would it be?

Potluck

From Our Community Kitchen: Book, Music, Art, Substack

Book

Music

My elementary music teacher, Mrs. Sarah Wall, introduced me to maracas, the recorder, and music from around the world. One song she introduced me to and had our third-grade class perform is “Go My Son” by Arlene Nofchissey Williams & Carnes Burson. This song became one of my guiding mantras: Get an education, make your people proud of you.

Art

Smithsonian American Art Museum, Bequest of Carolyn A. Clampitt in memory of the J. Wesley Clampitt, Jr. Family

Substack Recommendation

Cheers to The Haters: Audra McDonald and the Power of Quiet Excellence

Recipe Exchange

Introduction to Culture through Food

Several years ago, I spent two months in Belize working on a graduate school project.

While there, I was never asked, “What do you do?” but many people asked, “What part of Belize are your people from? I would tell them that I am from America, and without fail, they would ask again, “What part of Belize are your people from?”

I developed a standard answer: “I don’t have any family connections to Belize, but I do feel a kinship here.”

The food in Belize is fantastic, and I met several people who introduced me to their family recipes, street vendors, and restaurants. I drank my share of Belikins and fell in love with habaneros. One dish I frequently ate is garnaches. It is a simple yet flavorful dish, and I am happy to share the recipe with you today.

Garnaches

Ingredients

For the base:

• 8–10 small corn tortillas

• Vegetable oil (for frying)

• 1½ cups refried beans (black or red kidney)

For the topping:

• 1½ cups finely shredded cabbage

• ½ medium onion, finely diced

• 1 small tomato, diced (optional)

• 1–2 tbsp white vinegar

• Salt & pepper

For finish:

• 1 cup grated Dutch/Edam cheese

• Ketchup (Belizeans usually use a drizzle, not a full coating)

• Hot sauce or chopped habanero (optional)

1. Fry the Tortillas

1. Heat ½ to 1 inch of oil in a skillet over medium-high heat.

2. When hot, fry each tortilla until crisp and golden.

3. Drain on paper towels.

2. Warm & Season the Beans

1. Heat refried beans in a pan.

2. Add a little water if the mixture is too thick.

3. Season with salt and pepper (some people add a pinch of cumin or sautéed onions).

3. Prep the Cabbage Topping

1. In a bowl, combine:

   • Shredded cabbage

   • Diced onion

   • Tomato (optional)

2. Add vinegar, salt, and pepper.

3. Toss and let it sit 5–10 minutes to pickle lightly.

4. Assemble

1. Spread a generous layer of warm beans on each fried tortilla.

2. Add a handful of the cabbage mixture.

3. Sprinkle with grated Edam/Dutch cheese.

5. Add the Ketchup

• Drizzle over the top — traditionally just a thin zig-zag, not heavy coverage.

• Add hot sauce or habanero if you prefer a spicy kick.

Serve immediately while crispy!

Dessert

A Sweet Send-Off

“Your approach was good. You got it. You gon’ make it.” - Bernard

@malikshotyou

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