Notes on my comestible family
And little acts of optimization
April 27, 2026
I know he (my stepson) appreciates home cooking because he’s had a bonus mum who is a die-hard eater and LOVES to cook. So over the years he’s been well exposed. And well fed. However, at least right now, our relationship with what and how we eat and therefore our perspectives have taken alternate paths. Our differences make for a comestible, bite-worthy dalliance.
I’m all about the process, the flavors, the earthy sensuality. He’s into the macro-components. We are likely each other’s medicine. It may be a phase. It may be the generation. It may be the trend du jour. Whatever it is, when it comes to food choices, I’m convinced that unless you’re truly anchored and at ease with your personal choices (whatever those may be at this moment in time), one can be easily agitated or swayed. And then the whole point of getting together and sharing a meal is lost.
When he joins us now the sounds of satisfaction are audible. Focused chewing followed by a pause and then a deep sign. I know he’s enjoying it, finding the layers of pleasure. And for that, I’m grateful. Maybe it’s because he’s now twenty and lives with his buddies and their culinary default is, in reality, limited. But it’s not limitation that fascinates me, as one doesn’t require a lot of fancy ingredients to make substantial and satisfying meals. It’s the obsession with food as utility. Food as fuel—an approach or acquiescence of an astronaut. Food which must be portioned out and weighed, in hopes and in theory that that weight is gained in-kind. The shake (or drink) with every protein, energy, endurance, or recovery powder available.
Though he and I have had exhaustive conversations on what is an ‘optimal metric’, I still find this form of eating strangely unrecognizable. Compartmentalized. A little regimented. Nevertheless, we’re able to come together around the family table and indulge. It all melts away with the invitation for roast chicken and his dad’s signature chocolate chip cookies. There’s something about good home cooking that’s whole and warm, can easily fill us up, and have everything else fall away.
Shivangini from The Summer House explored this very topic in her latest newsletter.
“The question is no longer just about what would I enjoy, but what does this add up to. Of course there is nothing wrong with understanding what nourishes us. But when every meal becomes an act of optimisation, something older - and more sustaining - seems to slip away…….We linger over certain dishes not because they tick boxes, but because they make us slow down enough to notice where we are in the moment.”
I don’t think hunger can be optimized. Food culture the world over, though all stemming from the basic building blocks: ingredients, technique, alchemy, heart and soul, is being bombarded by the illusion of convenience and control. It’s being stripped of what’s most valuable. Grace. Honor. Time.
I’ll be the first to admit that I have strong opinions about food. Because I feel its potency, energy, and purpose goes far beyond numbers. You may catch a slight eye-roll or a tone of annoyance when a plate of lamb ragu or a bean stew is reduced to a protein:carb ratio. Hunger is not only biological. It’s emotional, temporal, social, and cultural. It’s medicine, memory, home, and heart. When I’m tired or overworked, there’s nothing more satisfying than a simple roast chicken, butter and noodles, or vegetable soup. The calorie count or the percentage of protein means nothing in contrast to the qualitative feelings—satiation, heaviness, warmth, a salty pecorino, a glass of red wine, good company, and so on. I love a hearty cassoulet on a cold winter’s night or more apricots than I know what to do with in early summer. I feel well. I feel abundant and nourished. Without which portions of my life would be sadly redacted.
He’s relatively young and gym obsessed. I’m a kid of the 70s, getting very, very close to fifty, and would rather have the sun on my face and dig a ditch for exercise. But I respect his passion and devotion and commitment. It’s only been recently where we can laugh with each other before one of us gets too fired up. All this to say, he and I do share the ability of noticing and prioritizing what we pay attention to. Not everything has to justify itself. Sometimes it’s just being able to notice the moment, care for our bodies, and be together regardless of what’s for dinner.
I’ll sometimes question, to what extent can someone love food but not be interested in learning how to prepare it? It’s a basic human need. How has the perception that it’s either too inconvenient, too boring, or too exhaustive of a process infiltrated our hungry human brain? Someone, somewhere has to cook. I guess we need to be reminded, daily, that we need one another, that our appetites are strong and distinct, that not everything has to be pretty.
Therein Miss Sensorial Nourishment takes her seat across the proverbial table from Mister, down to the gram, Optimization. We agree to let it go, allowing the food and the experience to be, as it’s been known the world over, the great equalizer.
Yours, Erin