Food as Medicine

Empirical studies have shown that those who participate in community gardens tend to gain psychological benefits, including improved quality of life, reduced stress levels, improved self-esteem, and increased social interaction (Koay & Dillon, 2020).

A meta-analysis of peer-reviewed journal articles published in the Canadian Family Physician compiled data that showed the efficacy of regular family mealtime in reducing disordered eating behavior, substance use, violence, internalizing behavior, body image concerns, negative self-esteem, lack of academic achievement, and symptoms of depression and suicidal ideation (Harrison, M.E., et al, 2015).

Teaching our children and ourselves that fruit does not start in a plastic clamshell, that what is in the soil goes directly into us, or that a sun-warmed ripe peach picked and eaten under the shade of the tree is unlike anything that can be found at even the best organic market is a powerful connecter that lasts generations.

Involving family, friends, and communities in the means of producing and engaging with food often has broad positive effects on our psychosocial and psychological health. Teaching our children and ourselves that fruit does not start in a plastic clamshell, that what is in the soil goes directly into us, or that a sun-warmed ripe peach picked and eaten under the shade of the tree is unlike anything that can be found at even the best organic market is a powerful connecter that lasts generations.

Abraham Maslow introduced the concept of the hierarchy of needs in his 1943 paper, “A Theory of Human Motivation.” In his hierarchy, food is labeled as a base need. This is for good reason. If we don’t eat, bad things tend to happen. But food is deeper than fuel and a physiological need. Food can be applied to every level of the hierarchy. Certainly, we need food to live, but we also need to be secure in our acquisition of food. We can feel and express love and belonging through food. Gain esteem, and even use food to help with self-actualization, as I am attempting to do with this writing. I cannot think of any other principle that applies to every tier of the hierarchy certainly not as completely and profoundly as food and our relationship with it.

Anthropologically, food acquisition and sharing have been critical to human survival. Before humans, earlier hominins relied on food sharing. The move away from family meals, connecting with the food we eat and over it, has pushed us away from something that is deeply ingrained in our psyche. It is also correlated with a decrease in psychological pathologies. This is unsurprising given that there is a clear correlation between food insecurity and mental health challenges, but we often see an increase in psychosocial benefits from cooking interventions.

In his book, The Things You Can See Only When You Slow Down: How To Be Calm in a Busy World, author Haemin Sunim (2017) wrote “When our mind is noisy, the world is as well. And when our mind is peaceful, the world is too.”

This statement holds well for our relationship with food and communion. For many, the interaction with food is deeply transactional. To them, food is fuel. It’s calories and is simply the sum of its parts. Those who approach food in a more holistic way have a far more relational interaction with food. It is intimate and concomitant with warmth and wellness. Despite this, many of us still cling to our ongoing internal food-fight.

Mindful eating is slowing down and approaching food consciously and with a deep sense of intentionality. Stopping and sensing the food that we consume is to connect with every aspect of it, and to do so with each of our senses. Something as simple as a cup of tea is profoundly elevated by taking the time to smell the herbaceous and deep notes of the leaves, the unique floral brightness and slight acidity of the honey, the bright whistle of the kettle, and the rolling whisps of steam that come from the cup. We feel the warmth that it casts and the calming thoughts as we pause for it to cool down. This gives the food meaning and gives us a break from our busy minds. That is mindful eating.

Those who approach food in a more holistic way have a far more relational interaction with food. It is intimate and concomitant with warmth and wellness.

As I reflect on mindful versus mindless eating, I am reminded of an event that happened a few months ago with my 11-year-old daughter. She was sitting with her two sisters on stools, diner style, against the kitchen island eagerly awaiting breakfast. I was carefully preparing an over-easy egg for her. I wanted to make sure it was perfect. Good butter, the perfect pan, just the right heat. I meticulously tended to it, ensuring that the yolk remained intact and the edges of the egg got just the right amount of crisp. I smiled and said “perfect!” to her as I slid the egg gently from the pan onto her plate. She smiled, picked up the entire egg with her fork, and inhaled it whole with a loud “SCHLORP”-like sound. No chewing. No tasting. No waiting for it to cool off. She only slowed down for a moment when she saw the look of utter horror on my face.

As soon as my face un-contorted, I saw my 11-year old’s egg-inhalation as a teachable moment. First, we discussed appropriate table manners and the function of a knife (or at least the edge of the fork). She cooks with me regularly, so we spent time talking about how to cook an egg. How something so simple can be so complex. We talked about slowing down to enjoy food, sensing its essence and balance, and avoiding “schlorping.”

Mindful eating goes beyond just how we focus on food and sense it once prepared. Mindful relationships with food begin with our interactions with each ingredient. Increased interaction gives us increased connectedness with the food. It is in the dining.

The future of food as medicine will be a conscientious return to our connection with its source. In my opinion, food is beyond medicine, and no medicine has the potential or ability to alter the course of wellness, connectivity, humanity, or society the way that food does, and always has.

Food can be a vehicle for connection, a source of comfort, and a tool for healing. Studies have shown that nutrient-rich diets tend to support brain function and reduce the risk of depression and anxiety, while communal meals tend to strengthen social bonds and promote emotional stability. The act of growing, preparing, and sharing food often cultivates mindfulness, reduces stress, and reinforces our ties to both tradition and community.

Yet somewhere in American history, the importance of food became muted in the din of our own rapid growth during the industrial age. Our connection to our food shifted from its production to it simply being produced. When that happened, food in many ways shifted from the most important aspect of our human lives to becoming a form of fuel. An inconvenience. No wonder many Americans’ relationship with food soured. By reclaiming food’s role in our lives as a source of nourishment, in every sense, we can restore its power.

Food is love. Food is sustenance. Food is warmth, kindness, and nourishment for all aspects of our humanness. When we engage with it fully, we are not just feeding our bodies; we are nurturing our minds, strengthening our relationships, and honoring the generations before us who understood that food is, and always has been, the foundation of a healthy life.