What the F*ck Is Up with Food?
No, Really
Food used to be simple.
You hunted it, gathered it, cooked it, and hoped you didn’t die eating it.
Now it’s a lifestyle, an identity, a moral stance, and an Olympic event all rolled into one.
We don’t just eat anymore — we perform eating.
Every meal comes with lighting, angles, hashtags, and guilt.
It’s not lunch — it’s content.
We built a whole economy around pretending we’re starving and enlightened at the same time.
We crave indulgence but worship restriction.
We talk about “cheat days” like we’re in a toxic relationship with a sandwich.
We used to pray for food.
Now we pray it’s organic.
Take the modern family.
So much pressure to pack lunches, make breakfasts, cook dinners — every single day.
Keeping that up is impossible.
And the ones who somehow manage? They always hate their lives.
Food can be — and is — many things.
Culture. Art. Comfort. Connection.
But first and foremost, it’s fuel.
We just need it.
That’s it.
This simple truth covers the whole spectrum of nutrition — from your protein shake to grandma’s lasagna.
In most cultures around the world — the ones we love to point at and say, “See? They’re so healthy!” — they eat copious amounts of prepared food.
They eat in restaurants.
They mix processed food with fresh food and don’t feel bad about it.
Bread, rice, stews, soups, leftovers.
Real people, eating real things.
But here, we kill ourselves trying to maintain the perfect “balanced diet.”
We count macros, track steps, and then feel guilty for not cooking enough kale.
Hey — sometimes dinner is just a piece of toast with peanut butter and honey.
That’s not depressing.
That’s freedom.
Our problem isn’t what we eat — it’s how much of it.
Too much of the wrong things, and way too much of everything.
We eat like every meal’s the last one we’ll ever get.
But food is also wonderful.
It brings us pleasure, love, community.
It’s art.
It shapes our experiences and becomes part of our memories.
A shitty beer after a bad day at work is just that — a shitty beer.
But take that same beer and drink it on a beach in a Portugal bar, to quote Dylan, with a beautiful lady dear to your heart…
and you’ll swear it’s the best beer of your life.
Why is food so hard?