In today’s fast-paced world, where everyone is chasing after standards – beauty standards, body standards, eco-living standards, “healthy” standards, lifestyle standards – we often forget a simple, deeply human, and profoundly meaningful joy: the joy of a good meal. Eating well isn’t just about satisfying hunger. It’s one of the most intimate ways we experience life, reconnect with memory, culture, others – and with ourselves.
To enjoy a good meal is not merely to fill the stomach. It’s a sensory experience, overflowing with memories and emotions. Some dishes may not be “delicious” by Michelin standards or five-star reviews, but they carry the warmth of a sunny afternoon, the sound of laughter around a family table, or the thrill of street food in a Saigon alley on a rainy day. The taste can awaken a long-lost version of ourselves – or someone we once loved.
Some spend their youth chasing measurements, counting every gram of fat, turning down desserts they crave just to stay in shape. But there are others – like my husband – who choose another way: embracing life with honesty and joy, including the simple pleasure of eating well. He doesn’t obsess over what others think of his weight or appearance. To him, a good meal is more than food – it’s inspiration, it’s reward, it’s his own quiet celebration of being alive.
There is no wrong choice – what matters is to live true to yourself and kind to your joy.
Eating well does not mean eating excessively or ignoring health. It means honoring every bite, appreciating the hands that prepared it, feeling present in the act of chewing and tasting – without rush, guilt, or shame. Some people take a tiny piece of chocolate and light up with happiness – not because they’re eating, but because they’re living.
Modern life is full of pressure, pulling people away from mindful living. A good meal can be a small yet powerful act of resistance against the cold pace of consumerism and industrial rhythms. Cooking a bowl of egg noodles late at night, making a cup of cocoa on a rainy morning, or sitting down at a street-side eatery to savor a crispy bánh xèo – these are gentle ways of reminding ourselves that we’re still here, still feeling, still tender in ways that defy explanation.
To enjoy food is also to connect with culture. Every country, every region, speaks its own language through cuisine. One cannot truly understand Japan without eating sushi with deep respect for its precision and subtlety; cannot grasp Italy without tasting handmade pasta soaked in sauce from homegrown vegetables. Cuisine is collective memory, a living map of history, an expression of a people’s spirit. When you eat something delicious, you’re not just eating – you’re participating in an ancient, vibrant story.
To savor a good meal is also to care for oneself. Someone who can cook for themselves, who chooses what they love, who treats themselves to dinner after a long day – that’s someone who knows self-love. In contrast, skipping meals, eating in a rush, or seeing food as mere duty is to slowly drift away from one’s center. Food enters the body, but first, it touches the heart. People who love food, who delight in the act of eating, often also know how to live deeply, to feel grateful, to find joy in the little things.
My husband may not fit society’s body ideals, but he understands something many don’t: joy is not something to sacrifice just to squeeze into a mold. The body is the home of the soul, and if that soul is joyful, radiant, and alive at every meal – then that home deserves love. He doesn’t deny himself his favorite dishes, because they give him energy to live – a kind of energy no number on a scale can measure. In many East Asian cultures, eating is sacred. People offer meals to ancestors, invite each other to eat as a form of affection, and gather during holidays around the dining table. Eating is not just biology – it’s part of our moral fabric. When a child loses their sense of taste, we worry because they’re losing joy. When an elder still delights in meals, we rejoice because they still embrace life. So why should we force ourselves to abandon one of the most profound sources of happiness – just because of outside opinions?
Eating well is also a way of connecting. Family meals, dinner parties with friends, street food dates – these are the settings where people open up to one another. At the table, defenses fall, judgments fade, distances close. Conversations begin with a bite, and grow into stories and relationships. Sharing a meal is a form of kinship, and cooking for someone is one of the gentlest forms of love.
And in the end, the joy of a good meal is a quiet reminder: we live to enjoy. We can choose to live healthy, beautiful, meaningful lives – but let’s not forget to live joyfully. Because joy does not weaken us – it gives us strength to face hard days. If you’re feeling down today, try cooking something you love, or eating a dish you’ve been craving – not to forget the sadness, but to remember that you can still feel happiness.
A life may be long, may be short, but if each day holds a little something delicious to taste, a little flavor to love – then that life is already full. And if anyone asks how you know you’re truly living, just smile and say: “I still have my appetite.”
