#13: Does your food really have a vibe?
Or are you slightly woowoo?
Happy New Year, friends! Hope you had a restful and rejuvenating few weeks and are having a peaceful entry into this new calendar year.
I've been thinking and reading about Ayurveda recently, which is based on alignment with nature and its shifting seasons, both in the world around you and within you. One of the practices it focuses on is food as an act of self-care, setting in place rituals around food and varying what is eaten as the seasons change. As someone who has spent the last half-decade in a city with nearly the same weather and an abudance of excellent agricultural produce all year, this is something I am relearning.
I am fortunate enough to have moved to Switzerland, also a place with extremely high agricultural standards and commensurately high prices. But when a friend recently said to me over a meal sourced from an organic, local store, "You can really taste the energy in food, you know", with a blissful smile on her face, I thought 'Well, that's some privileged, hippie BS.'
My reaction was primarily governed by a socioeconomic justice argument for access to food. If the energy level of food (called 'prana' in Ayurveda) is proportional to price, does food bought or consumed at lower price points also have lower forms of energy? Does that mean that the people who eat it have lower pranic value? And when nearly everything new we produce on the planet is tied so closely to exploitation in some way (even salt), how can you possibly be sure that something that made it to your plate did so fairly?
In that light, my question became: Are you tasting the 'energy' in the food, or the eyeball-gouging price you paid for it?
I have since reconsidered and reframed that initial reaction slightly. The social justice angle of privilege and who gets access to food and higher energy planes definitely holds and is the subject of another essay, but a few-months more mature Nanya will now attest that the enjoyment of food comes from many reasons. Among these, both the price and 'energy' (or 'vibes') of food have individual and important roles to play.
The price you pay for something is worth considering because it usually means two things. First, in an ideal world, the source of the food bought at a higher price presumably conforms to higher agricultural and ethical standards. Second, and more likely, when you pay a bit more for food, the value you place on that food and the reverence you give it is also usually higher.
That second part is important, because without due reverence, food is just fuel. With it, it becomes a vessel for nourishment, joy, even enlightenment. Have you ever had a moment of 'wow' or 'mmm, that's so good' when you've eaten something? Your body ripples with warmth, your endorphins kick in. If food is your spiritual language, you may even experience a moment of transcendence — you are grateful, present, filled with love and white light, one with the universe.
In other words, the quality of the food and how it was grown and cooked is important. Being truly present while you consume it is as important. This is my second and equally important point, so read that again. Being truly present while you consume it is as important. As with all aspects of life, the energy you bring to a situation is often also the energy you take from that situation. If you arrive to a meal tired, anxious, depressed or stressed, your body is biologically geared to divert resources to your mind and body, as a result numbing your taste buds to that meal.
But more than that, I have come to believe that you can in fact taste the love with which your meal was grown or made. There is a world of difference between a stiff, pallid carrot grown for durability at a big chain grocery store and a fresh, juicy one grown and harvested sustainably to maximise its flavour. And if the person who made your meal is tired or disinterested in cooking or simply having a bad day, they may, for example, be less present to how much oil they are using or how high the flame is, or hurry through some steps in the process.
On the other hand, fruits from a friend or farmer friend's garden, lovingly tended to, will likely always taste juicier. And sitting down to a meal caringly made for you, no matter whether it is mildly oversalted or burnt or of an, uhm, different flavour profile than you tend towards, will always feel special. As with any human interaction, feeding another person is one of the most intimate and nourishing things a human being can do, and to channel good energies through it is to send the receiver a prayer for their wellbeing.
I am biased because for me cooking is one of the purest forms of meditation, an instant parasympathetic system reset brought forth by the simple act of cutting vegetables and combining and looking after them, and in the process, of the person who will consume them. For most of my life, I have cooked simple, quick meals that require less than half an hour to make (One of my special skills is being able to lay out a standard Indian meal (dal, rice, veg) in an hour from start to finish). But that 15-30 minutes is all I need to hit pause on all the chatter living in the world brings to my head and instantly zoning into a place of peace. When I am chopping vegetables or stirring a pot, I am giving them my full attention — sights, sounds, smells. And is there a higher form of love than attention?
Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel the potatoes.
- Alan Watts, The Way of Zen
The recipe that I learnt for kada parsad, the delicious flour and ghee halwa offered at gurudwaras, indicates to accompany each step in the process with the beginning of the Sikh prayer, 'ik onkar'. This is literally translated as 'there is one god', but more generally taken to mean that all humanity is one and that everyone is equal. What a powerful sentiment to accompany something that is offered and accepted in a place of meditation, worship, surrender and togetherness.
My conclusion then is, even if it ascribes me to the woowoo hippie community: Food takes on value because of the attention you give it, and its inherent qualities — the quality of care put into raising the raw materials as much as in cooking them — do matter. So cook with love, source your food the best you can. Quality over quantity — a little goes a long way in nourishing the soul.
Links and Things:
If you're curious about Ayurveda: The Ayurvedic Self-Care Handbook by Sarah Kucera
If you're in the mood for something beautiful: Magnolia, a short book of poetry by Nina Mingya Powles that stuns with its attention to the everyday. 'Two days ago I smashed a glass jar of honey on the kitchen floor. The glass broke but the honey held its shards together, collapsing softly.'
If you're struggling with FOMO: This Economist article 'FOMO can never resolve itself, because it’s predicated on the ...conviction that if my life was really that good, it wouldn’t be mine.'
If you haven't had enough of your family over the holidays: Laughing Without an Accent by Firoozeh Dumas. An oldie but goodie that had both my parents in peals of laughter on the plane.
If you want a page-turner to smash your reading goals: The Murder Rule by Derla McTiernan. This was so good, I started it at 4 am today and was done by 8.
Housekeeping: This letter will be shifting homes again soon as its host website changes focus, so here's a heads up; things may look different around here!
And a reminder: Hit reply, say hi!
Originally published on Jan 06, 2023