What the Txoko Teaches Us About Community

In ancient times a Txoko is a traditional social club where members gather to cook, eat, and socialise. These private societies foster a strong sense of community and culinary tradition. Members often share recipes, cook meals together, and enjoy the convivial atmosphere, emphasising the importance of food and fellowship in culture.

In a world more connected than ever by technology, many of us have never felt more alone. You might live in a bustling city, yet go months without a meaningful conversation with a neighbor. You scroll through social feeds at night, feeling connected to hundreds of people, yet inside there’s an ache. an emptiness where community should be. This quiet crisis of disconnection is not just in your head; it’s happening across the globe. Researchers say roughly one in three adults worldwide experiences feelings of loneliness . It’s a painful irony of modern life: we can be surrounded by people and still feel utterly isolated.

Loneliness has become so widespread that some governments have declared it a public health concern. In 2018, the United Kingdom went as far as appointing a “Minister for Loneliness” to tackle what the Prime Minister called a “sad reality of modern life” . Across age groups and continents, people report feeling cut off from others. Even adolescents are not immune – the World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that 5–15% of teens often feel lonely . Among older adults, as many as 1 in 4 experience social isolation , sometimes going days or weeks without human contact.

Modern society has, in many places, lost the built-in communities that used to bring people together. Extended families are more geographically scattered. Participation in local clubs, religious groups, or neighborhood gatherings has declined in many regions. We move frequently for school or work, uprooting social ties. And while social media and smartphones make it easy to chat anytime, they don’t always fill the void. In fact, heavy use of social networks can paradoxically heighten feelings of disconnection by replacing face-to-face interactions with shallow digital ones. The result is a global loneliness epidemic: millions of individuals feeling unseen and unsupported in their daily lives.

The effects of this loss of community ripple through our mental and emotional well-being. A 2021 Harvard report found that 36% of Americans — including 61% of young adults — feel “serious loneliness,” describing frequent or constant loneliness in their lives . And this isn’t just an American issue; surveys in Brazil, Turkey, India and beyond report high loneliness rates, with Brazil topping the list at 50% of people feeling lonely . Urbanization and the fast pace of modern life mean that many of us don’t even know our neighbors’ names, let alone feel a sense of support from them. The COVID-19 pandemic, with its lockdowns and social distancing, only intensified this trend — about 43% of young adults worldwide reported increased loneliness since the pandemic began . We are living, it seems, in an age of disconnection.

Feeling isolated isn’t just unpleasant; it’s hazardous to our health. Human beings are social creatures by nature, and when we lack connection, our minds and bodies suffer. An increasing body of research shows that chronic loneliness and social isolation can be as harmful as well-known health risks. In fact, one government commission concluded that loneliness is as bad for our health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day*. The WHO has similarly warned that the impact of social isolation on mortality is comparable to risks like smoking, obesity, or lack of exercise*. Simply put, disconnection can be deadly.

Consider some of the findings from health experts and researchers on what prolonged loneliness can do:

• Higher risk of early death: People who are persistently lonely have a 26% higher risk of early mortality*. Living in isolation can literally shorten our lifespan.
• Poor mental health: Loneliness puts us at greater risk of depression and anxiety. One large analysis found that chronically lonely individuals were far more likely to suffer mental distress (60% do) compared to those who are not lonely (15%)*. Over time, lacking a sense of belonging can fuel hopelessness and erode our self-esteem.
• Physical health impacts: Social isolation is linked to higher blood pressure and stress hormone levels, worse sleep quality, and even cognitive decline in later life*. Our immune systems and hearts take a hit when we lack social support.

These facts paint a stark picture: loneliness is not just a fleeting emotion, but a serious health issue. It can creep into our daily functioning, making it harder to concentrate, to cope with challenges, to find joy. And as loneliness worsens, people may withdraw even more, creating a vicious cycle that is hard to escape. No wonder public health officials worldwide are sounding the alarm — calling for initiatives to rebuild social connection as a way to improve mental health*.

Yet, recognizing the problem is only the first step. The real question is: what can we do about it? How do we rediscover a sense of community in our fragmented modern world? Part of the answer might lie in looking at cultures that have held tightly to community bonds. To find a remedy, it helps to seek out examples of the cure. And one beautiful example comes from a region known for its strong communal traditions — the Basque Country.

In the Basque region of northern Spain, there is a cherished institution that has quietly sustained friendship and belonging for generations. It’s called the Txoko (pronounced cho-ko), a Basque word meaning “cozy corner”. At first glance, a txoko might look like a simple private dining club — a room with a kitchen and a big table where members gather to cook and eat. But to its members, it is so much more: a sanctuary of togetherness, a living example of community in action.

Members of a Basque txoko share a homemade meal around a long wooden table. In these communal dining societies, friends (and nowadays families) come together regularly — often once a week — to cook, eat, sing, and celebrate life’s simple pleasures. The tradition dates back to the late 1800s, and many txokos have been going strong for decades. They began as gastronomic societies, formed by groups of friends with a passion for cooking and camaraderie. Historically many were male-only clubs, but today txokos have evolved to include women and younger generations, all united by the joy of sharing food.

What makes a txoko special is that the members are the chefs, waiters, and dishwashers all at once – everyone pitches in. A typical evening might unfold like this: Members trickle in after work, greeting each other warmly. Someone ties on an apron and starts chopping onions for the evening’s stew; another uncorks a bottle of local wine. As ingredients sizzle and simmer, conversation fills the air. “My favorite moment of the night,” one long-time member says, “is when we arrive, open a bottle of wine, and begin to prepare the meal. While we are cooking, we talk about family, work, government, soccer — all the topics of life.” In the cozy corner of the txoko kitchen, no subject is off-limits, and everyone has a story or joke to share. By the time the food is ready, the participants have already nourished themselves with laughter and connection.

When the dishes are finally brought to the table — perhaps a hearty bacalao (cod) stew or a charcoal-grilled steak with peppers — the group sits down together like a big extended family. There’s an unspoken ritual of belonging in passing around a loaf of bread or pouring your friend a glass of wine. Unlike in a restaurant, nobody’s in a rush to leave when the plates are emptied. The night often continues with card games or folk songs echoing off the walls. Members linger in conversation until late, enjoying the rare feeling that here, in this little hall, they truly have each other. As one observer put it, a txoko “brings people together over food and wine — and battles isolation late into the night”.

These private clubs play an essential role in Basque social life. They’re not just places to eat; they double as community centers and second homes for their members. Birthdays and anniversaries are celebrated at the txoko; new recipes are tested and praised in its kitchen. In one well-loved txoko in Bilbao, a member named Alfredo (age 70) meets with friends every Thursday, carrying on a tradition they’ve kept since they were teenagers. “Some of us are in our 70s and 80s and were friends as kids,” he explains, as the group gathers to watch a football match over dinner. That sense of continuity — of friendships that endure across decades — is a testament to the power of intentional community. In the txoko, no one is left out. Everyone has a seat at the table, a role in the kitchen, and a voice in the banter. It’s easy to imagine that loneliness finds it hard to survive in such an environment.

Why is sharing a meal such a powerful antidote to loneliness? On an intuitive level, we’ve all felt how a good dinner with friends or family can lift our spirits. But science backs this up as well: communal eating truly does wonders for our well-being. A study from Oxford University found that the more often people eat with others, the happier and more satisfied they are with their lives. Dining together regularly was linked to increased social bonding and even to people feeling more embedded in their community. In contrast, eating in isolation was associated with feeling less content. (Yet today, busy schedules mean many meals are eaten alone — one UK survey found a third of weekday evening meals were eaten in solitude.)

Sharing food appears to be one of the most ancient and effective ways to foster trust and closeness. Psychologists note that communal eating encourages social bonding and feelings of well-being. When we cook and dine as a group, we tend to talk more, laugh more, and engage more deeply with each other. One researcher even suggested that in today’s fraught times, making time for communal meals might be “the single most important thing we can do – both for our own health and for that of the wider community”. Think about that: the simple act of regularly sitting around a table with others could significantly boost our mental health and also strengthen the fabric of our neighborhoods.

There’s something almost therapeutic about the rhythms of a shared meal. Preparing food together gives each person a chance to contribute — whether you’re chopping vegetables, stirring the pot, or setting out plates, you feel needed and useful. This sense of shared purpose can be especially healing if you’ve been feeling adrift and alone. Conversation flows easily in the kitchen and at the table; topics bounce from lighthearted jokes to personal challenges. Over time, these regular small interactions build real support networks. It’s no surprise that people who eat socially tend to have wider social networks of support in their lives. In a very real way, breaking bread can help rebuild broken bonds.

The Basque txokos exemplify this truth. By coming together weekly to cook and dine, members maintain deep friendships and a strong sense of belonging. The txoko is essentially a preventive medicine for loneliness, exercised through pots and pans and hearty toasts. And while most of us don’t have a txoko in our town, the principle behind it is universal: when we nourish our connections, we nourish ourselves.

As we reflect on the loneliness epidemic, the txoko offers a hopeful spark: it shows that rebuilding community is possible, one shared meal at a time. We might not all live in a Basque village or have a dedicated clubhouse with a shiny kitchen. But we can create modern equivalents of these communal spaces in our own lives. It starts with a simple idea: bringing people together to cook and eat.

Imagine if every neighborhood had a weekly potluck dinner, or a local cafe that hosted community cooking nights. Picture an apartment building where once a month residents gather in the common room for a homemade feast, each person contributing a dish or an extra pair of hands to help cook. Or think of a vacant lot turned into a community garden that ends each harvest with a collective meal around a long table. These are modern txokos in spirit — open, welcoming corners of community that we build for ourselves. They might take place in a church basement, a park pavilion, or rotating living rooms, but the location doesn’t matter as much as the feeling of belonging they create.

The key is consistency and openness. In Basque Country, txoko members know that every week, that cozy corner is waiting for them, rain or shine. Similarly, we can foster connection by creating routines of togetherness: a standing invitation to Sunday family dinner with friends, a Friday night soup-sharing circle, a monthly cultural cooking club where everyone learns to make each other’s recipes. At first it might feel awkward to organize, but people are often hungrier for connection than we realize. All it takes is someone to say “Let’s gather.” The rest tends to fall into place — conversation, laughter, and warmth kindled over a simmering pot.

Ultimately, addressing the loss of community requires us to reweave the human fabric in whatever ways we can. Grand policy initiatives and awareness campaigns have their place, but so do the small, personal efforts of each of us reaching out. The mental health impacts of loneliness are real and profound, but so is the healing power of fellowship. The Basque txokos remind us that even in a fast-paced, digital age, people will show up for each other if given a chance, especially when there’s a delicious meal on the table and a sense that everyone is welcome.

In the glow of a shared meal, we find something we’ve been missing: community. It’s the laughter at a joke that only friends would find funny, the collective pride in a pot of stew made together, the comfort of being truly seen and heard. These are the moments that nourish our souls. As we face a global epidemic of loneliness, we can take inspiration from those cozy Basque dining halls. Let’s dare to open our doors, light our stoves, and invite others in. In doing so, we just might create our own “txoko” — not a place, but a spirit of belonging that can live wherever people gather with open hearts. The invitation is there for all of us: to sit down together, to share food and stories, and to slowly, meal by meal, rebuild the precious tapestry of community we so need in our lives.