taste the difference. I really can.
This is something I’ve noticed with women, although we’re seeing men slowly becoming more involved in the kitchen. Societally, it’s still not where it needs to be.
Making food out of just duty usually involves women being self-sacrificial — and sadly, they often have very little or no help. It comes from a place of “I have to do this” because nobody else will. That duty can come with resentment. And it only gets amplified when guests are over, as now she’s fighting for that mental checkbox to be ticked off: “Guests are fed” and “I don’t want any bad reflection on me.”
But at what cost? The entire performative process is draining. Cooking up a storm, then wanting to clean the kitchen from top to bottom and you just want everyone to leave. And I don’t blame you…
On the other hand, food made with love tastes better, because it was made with love and care. It wasn’t self-sacrificial. She enjoyed the process. She knew this would feed her and her loved ones. She had the mental and physical energy. She’s in her zone, in a flow state, enjoying what she’s doing.
Feeding people from a purely dutiful place feels cold and transactional. Not only does it show in the food, but it also clearly shows in her, in her exhaustion and her inability to truly show up.
I’d rather have a cup of tea than watch someone break their back if it didn’t come from a place of love and care. It wasn’t real to begin with. From chef to guest, neither of us got what we wanted in the end: to feel good, to connect, to make a memory.
And if food becomes the barrier, if seeing each other always has to mean a full-on spread, and that’s the reason you don’t ask me to come over, we’re barely going to see each other.
My stomach does not need to be fed, my soul does.
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