Introduction. If you follow my posts (or my life, which often blur together) you already know this: I’ve been to Spain often. Really often. Over the past ten years, I’ve spent weeks (if not months) each year wandering its cities, walking its streets, testing my Spanish, and – inevitably – eating my body weight in paella.
But this post isn’t about Spain.
This is about Cambridge, Massachusetts. Or better yet, about the magic of an unexpected paella made far from its homeland. A culinary gesture that became something else entirely – a metaphor for learning, humility, hospitality.
I’ve just wrapped up a few days in Cambridge, squeezed between meetings, lectures, and quick coffees. The reason for my trip: the IPx Summit, a unique gathering of minds from all over the world. For three vibrant days, copyright and patent professionals came together at Harvard Law School to discuss not just doctrine and practice, but futures – of law, of education, of institutions themselves.
Even if I still love teaching Copyright, I don’t work as a copyright lawyer anymore. Yet, I still find myself returning. Why? Because there’s still so much to absorb. So much to question. So much to celebrate, in a field that continues to evolve and provoke. Because CopyrightX and PatentX, when you strip away the acronym and prestige, are, in their most generous form, a kind of miracle. A fragile yet enduring pact between creators, users, institutions, students, and the systems that surround all of them.
I mean, who would have thought that a Harvard Law School Professor might decide to offer the same course, for free, to artists, librarians, students, and professionals from across the globe? That a certificate (yes, from Harvard…) would follow, not behind a paywall, but behind a shared purpose? And who would have thought that a parallel course on patents, in collaboration with WIPO, would join the chorus?
At the heart of this experience is a man: William Fisher. But everyone calls him Terry.
Some would call him a “Professor of Professors.” But that doesn’t quite capture it. Terry teaches with rigor, but also with a kind of gentleness that’s increasingly rare. He doesn’t explain to impress. He explains to include. He leads not only from the podium, but from the kitchen. Literally.
Every summit he hosts ends in the same way: with a home-cooked paella, shared around a long table with fellows, mentors, guests, and friends. Terry and his wife Diane open their home with disarming grace. No velvet ropes. No name tags. Just saffron and stories, wine, and laughter. And that rare feeling that maybe (just maybe) we’re all in this together.
And here’s the twist: it’s not just the best paella I’ve had in the U.S.
It might be the best I’ve had, period.
Not because of some mythical ingredient list (though the crust was perfect, the broth rich, the seafood generous) but because of the setting. Because of the hands that stirred the pot. Because of what it meant.
There’s something almost radical about a host cooking for his peers. It’s a gesture that bypasses hierarchy. That reminds us that education isn’t confined to syllabi or Zoom links. The real stuff happens after dinner. In conversations that drift. In questions asked softly. In time given freely.
Education at its best doesn’t scale. But it stays.
This post isn’t really about paella. It’s about presence. About what it means to gather, to learn together, to share food and futures. To pause briefly before everyone rushes back to inboxes and deadlines.
It’s about law, learning, and a perfect spoonful of saffron rice.
So thank you, Terry. For the summit. For the mentorship. For showing, once again, that teaching, like cooking, is a quiet form of love.
And yes: the best paella in town was made by a Harvard Law professor in Cambridge.
Who would’ve thought?
