The Big Heart of Zanabia
If you ever doubt that a heart can be larger than a mountain, simply attend the Zanabia Food Fest in winter. Not for the pizza (though the pizza is legendary), not for the pretzels (twisted with philosophical intent), and certainly not for the soup (which has been known to cure pessimism). You come for the heart. Zanabia’s big, generous, slightly ridiculous heart.
Here, kindness is served in portions so large they require two hands and a forgiving belt. No one asks who you are before offering food. They ask only one thing: “Have you eaten enough?” If the answer is yes, they smile politely and give you more anyway, just to be safe.
Look around. An eagle pours frothy mugs with the seriousness of a monk blessing holy water. A frog presents pizza like it’s a diplomatic offering between rival kingdoms. Rabbits carry pretzels bigger than their sense of self-importance. Even the elephant—whose memory is famously excellent—pretends not to remember who owes him money, because today is about sharing, not settling accounts.
In Zanabia, wings aren’t for showing off. They’re for reaching across crowded tables, for passing plates, for pulling someone closer when the wind gets cold. The elves stir stews while humming old songs about winters survived together. The dwarfs, gruff as they may look, secretly slip extra dumplings onto plates when they think no one’s watching. (Everyone is watching. Everyone pretends not to notice.)
What makes the heart of Zanabia truly enormous isn’t the food or the festival. It’s the quiet understanding that nobody stands alone in the snow. If you’re new, you’re welcomed. If you’re tired, you’re seated. If you’re different—beak, trunk, fur, or wings—you’re simply… normal.
Arguments dissolve over shared mugs. Old grudges melt faster than snow near the soup tent. Laughter travels farther than the cold ever could. Even the mountains seem to lean in, curious, as if wondering how a town managed to make warmth contagious.
When the lights dim and the last crumbs disappear, Zanabia doesn’t pack away its heart with the tents. It keeps it out, year-round, beating steadily beneath scarves and smiles. Because in Zanabia, the biggest heart isn’t a metaphor. It’s a way of life—and there’s always room for one more at the table.
