Editor’s Page – October 2026

Schadenfreude & Sobremesa

Though I can trace much of my ancestry to Germany, I didn’t experience schadenfreude until I moved to Mexico. Schadenfreude, a word directly borrowed from German, is defined as taking delight in the troubles of others. It is a compound noun created by joining two German words together: [Schaden] (Harm / Damage / Misfortune) + [Freude] (Joy / Pleasure). British philologist Richard Chenevix Trench called it a “terrible word.” And maybe it is. And feeling that particular emotion? Definitely a bit worrisome.

I felt the peculiar emotion in question when I was having lunch with a friend at Kiki’s House in Chapala. I didn’t realize I was experiencing a schadenfreude moment until my friend asked me why I was smiling.

I gestured discreetly to an American man and woman (presumably a couple) a few tables away. “Check those guys out.”

The couple had finished their meal and were growing visibly grumpier and grumpier. They swiveled in their chairs, scanning for a server. The woman pushed her plate to the edge of the table, the ceramic bottom screeching against the metal table.

The man grumbled a little too audibly, “Can’t they see we’re finished? What do you have to do to get a check around here?!” Or something to that effect.

“We should tell them.” My friend offered.

“Give them a minute,” I said, apparently more committed to my schadenfreude than I’d like to admit.

I watched for another minute before decency won me over and we explained to them that they had to ask for the check. “The tradition here is to linger after a meal, chat, connect, have a drink or two. The staff doesn’t want to be rude.”

To their credit, the couple seemed genuinely interested in the cultural tradition of sobremesa. Like schadenfreude, sobremesa is a compound word combining sobre (on top of) with mesa (table). It is a deep-seated tradition that honors connection, family and friends. It can last any amount of time, often stretching into hours.

I’ve been thinking about my behavior that afternoon, and not entirely with pride. I knew something that couple didn’t. Not much, really. I would never presume to explain Mexican culture to anyone as though I were an authority on it. But I knew this one small thing, and instead of passing that little bit of knowledge along, I sat there enjoying their frustration.

Maybe those of us who have lived in Mexico for a while have a small responsibility to the people arriving behind us. Not to appoint ourselves interpreters of Mexico—Yikes—but to share what we have learned while being honest about how much we still don’t understand. Most of us have misread a situation, broken an unwritten rule or grumbled about something that made perfect sense once someone explained it. Perhaps part of becoming a good guest in another country is learning its customs. And perhaps another part is turning to the newer guest beside you and saying, “Here’s something somebody taught me.”

So perhaps my little bout of schadenfreude was useful after all. I got a few moments of wicked pleasure watching two strangers struggle with a custom I happened to understand, but the joke was ultimately on me. Living in Mexico has taught me that there is always another custom, another courtesy, another way of looking at things that I have yet to discover. The least I can do is share the few things I’ve learned along the way, and remember that, sooner or later, I’ll be the confused foreigner at the next table.