An expanded gathering of elites… where you start with an idea and end with a platter of mansaf.

As one of the attendees told me about his experience a few minutes ago on the phone, I decided to rephrase it as a short story of what happened to him. The story begins with a call he received with a lighthearted greeting: “We are pleased to invite you to a meeting with a select group of important and influential figures…” At that moment, my friend felt he was about to witness a historic moment that would bring him together with two key players, one that would reshape the overall situation—or at least reshape some of his thinking. My friend put on his best tie and went to the meeting of prominent figures, ready to hear what had yet to be said. But after half an hour or less, he—and I mean him and everyone who went to the meeting—discovered that the only new thing about the meeting was the type of coffee and the level of “exuberance” displayed by the host.

The elite, it is assumed, is a group that produces knowledge, stirs things up, and propels society forward. An elite where questions unsettle more than answers reassure. An elite that adds, not repeats. But what we see in many of these “elite gatherings,” as my friend experienced them, is a socialized version of rebroadcasting: the same faces, the same phrases, the same existential anxiety recycled in a more polite, almost timid, language than the host.

What was astonishing was that he insisted everyone there was an “expert.” An expert in politics, an expert in economics, an expert in art, and even an expert in their own field. When one of them spoke, you felt as if the truth was about to be revealed… only to discover it was already hidden behind a long, flowery phrase that led nowhere. The discussions he witnessed were a collective exercise in avoiding genuine disagreement, because disagreement could spoil the camaraderie, and camaraderie is more important than the idea—especially if that camaraderie might later lead to something more significant.

And here my friend discovered that he had reached the heart of the matter, or rather, its wide bottom: the Mansaf dish.

He confirmed to me, with a striking analogy, that the signs were gradually beginning to appear. Someone was looking at the clock. Another was whispering, “When is dinner?” Suddenly, the enthusiasm shifted from “deconstructing the political discourse” to “removing the meat from the bone.” The existential questions were reduced to a single question: Is there enough rice for everyone? And then the truth that the gathering had tried to conceal all along became clear: What brought people together was not the idea, but the mansaf… and the idea was merely an appetizer.

At that moment, the elite were seen in their truest form: no working papers, no pompous jargon, just highly efficient hands working together, and a rare consensus untouched by intellectual disagreements. Everyone was in agreement, harmonious, productive—but only in one direction. Perhaps if the discussions had been conducted with the same fervor as the jujube tree, we would have emerged with at least one new theory.

I tried to downplay the artistic imagery he was conveying to me, assuring him that the situation was "normal" and that these meetings often concluded with grand pronouncements about "the necessity of continuing the dialogue" and "the importance of building upon what has been discussed." But the only real progress was the layering of rice, and the most in-depth discussion revolved around the last piece of meat and the variety of desserts.

I told him, to put him at ease, that there was nothing wrong with the mansaf itself—quite the contrary—it was more genuine than many of the words spoken before it. The problem arises when it becomes the unspoken objective, the only guaranteed outcome. Then, the term "toast" becomes mere decoration, and it's nothing more than an elegant gathering around a large platter.

Therefore, I tried hard to guide him so that in the future, when he receives an "elite" invitation, he shouldn't burden himself with too many expectations. He should simply ask the real question: Is the idea worth attending... or is the mansaf the main attraction?