For a long time, I thought about food in a pretty straightforward way: food was fuel.
I love food, don’t get me wrong. But when it came to my own relationship with eating, I was often more focused on what I was putting into my body than on the experience of eating itself. If I was going to take in the calories, I wanted to make sure they counted for something. I wanted the nutrition, the benefits, the fuel to keep me going.
Taste and pleasure? Those were nice bonuses.
Cooking, on the other hand, was a different story. I have never been the person who naturally gravitates toward the kitchen, pulls out a cutting board, and thinks, You know what would be fun? Chopping vegetables for the next hour.
And if you have ever felt intimidated by cooking, overwhelmed by nutrition advice, or convinced that eating well requires more time, money, and expertise than you have, I want you to know something: I get it.
That is exactly why my conversation with Dr. Brooke Resch on Don’t Fuckin’ Shrink was such a meaningful one for me.
What started as a conversation about making a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup turned into something much bigger. It became a reminder that our relationship with food doesn’t have to be complicated, intimidating, or governed by a million rules.
It can be joyful. It can be practical. It can be nourishing. And it can start exactly where we are.
When I invited Dr. Brooke onto the podcast, I knew she was someone who could make food approachable. Brooke is a psychiatrist who loves cooking and has found a way to bring her interests in mental health and nutrition together.
I was excited to learn how she makes delicious food that also supports our well-being. But I was equally interested in understanding how she made cooking feel so accessible.
Because let’s be honest: between work, family, children, errands, and the endless demands of everyday life, preparing a meal can feel like one more thing on an already impossible to-do list.
Then we start scrolling through social media, and suddenly we’re told we need special cookware, the perfect ingredients, the right preparation methods, and an encyclopedic understanding of everything on a food label.
Before we have even turned on the stove, we can feel like we’re doing it wrong.
Brooke reminded me that cooking doesn’t have to look like that.
She explained that we can get remarkably close to a homemade meal with a fraction of the effort by using convenient ingredients from the grocery store. Instead of roasting tomatoes and peppers ourselves, we used fire-roasted canned tomatoes and jarred roasted red peppers. We added white beans for fiber, protein, and creaminess, along with cottage cheese to create a smooth, rich texture.
We put everything into a blender, blended it, and warmed it on the stove.
That’s it.
We made a creamy tomato bisque without spending hours in the kitchen or turning my counters into a disaster zone.
And then we made grilled cheese sandwiches with pesto, mozzarella, provolone, sourdough bread, and spinach.
I have to tell you, the result felt a lot fancier than my usual cooking experience.
But here’s the part that mattered most: I could actually do it.
I didn’t need to become a different person. I didn’t need to buy an entirely new kitchen. I didn’t need to master a complicated recipe.
I just needed to start.
One of the most important things Brooke said during our conversation was that people often put too much pressure on themselves to cook the right way.
We get caught up in the details before we have even established the basics.
Should I be using cast iron? Is this ingredient okay? Do I need to make everything from scratch? Am I getting enough protein? What about the additives? Is this the healthiest possible version of this meal?
These questions can have their place. Learning about ingredients and making informed choices can be valuable. But when every decision becomes another opportunity to get something wrong, the kitchen stops feeling like a place where we can care for ourselves.
It becomes another source of stress.
I experienced that firsthand while cooking with Brooke. Even as someone who works in the health and wellness space and understands the importance of nutrition, I found myself confronting the little fears and uncertainties that can make cooking feel intimidating.
I don’t cook with cast iron very often. I don’t always know which techniques to use. And I certainly don’t want to spend my evening washing seventeen different dishes.
Brooke’s approach was refreshingly simple: start with what you have and build from there.
If you’re making grilled cheese and opening a can of tomato soup, maybe the next step is blending some white beans into your soup. If you’re having frozen pizza, perhaps you add some spinach. If you have a little more time next week, maybe you try another recipe.
You don’t have to change everything overnight.
You can make one small adjustment, learn something, and give yourself credit for it.
Progress doesn’t require perfection. It requires permission to begin.
I think we could all use more of that permission, especially when it comes to food.
This is where the conversation really began to shift for me.
I have often approached food through the lens of what it provides my body. What nutrients am I getting? How is this going to support me? Is this meal serving a purpose?
Those are useful questions, but they are not the only questions worth asking.
What if we also asked ourselves: Does this taste good? Does this bring me comfort? Does preparing this meal help me slow down? Does sharing food with someone I love make me feel more connected?
Food is nourishment, but it is also experience.
It’s the meal your grandmother made when you were growing up. It’s the recipe you learn from your mother. It’s cooking alongside your partner. It’s sitting around a table with friends. It’s discovering a new flavor and realizing that something you thought you didn’t like can actually become a favorite.
And sometimes, it’s simply a grilled cheese sandwich dipped into a warm bowl of tomato soup on a cold day.
There is value in that, too.
Brooke shared how cooking became a source of joy early in her life. Her mother cooked regularly, and she and her twin sister spent time in the kitchen helping with vegetables, stirring ingredients, and gradually learning new skills as they grew older.
Cooking was not just about getting dinner on the table. It was a way for her family to spend time together.
Even now, she describes being in the kitchen with her mother as a treat.
That stayed with me.
As a parent, I think about the habits and experiences I want to pass on to my children. I want them to understand food as something that supports their bodies, of course. But I also want them to experience the joy of making something, trying something new, and sharing something they helped create.
I want food to be a connection point, not just another task to check off the list.
We don’t have to create elaborate meals to make those memories. Sometimes, the simplest moments are the ones that stay with us.
Here’s another idea from our conversation that I loved: cooking can be a mindfulness practice.
Brooke explained that mindfulness is about being present in the moment, noticing when our minds wander, and gently bringing our attention back without judging ourselves.
Cooking naturally invites us to do that.
We listen for the sizzle of bread in a pan. We notice the smell of garlic. We watch the cheese melt. We pay attention to the colors and textures of the ingredients in front of us.
We use our senses.
And if we’re paying attention, we’re not quite as caught up in the meeting we have tomorrow, the emails waiting in our inbox, or the twelve other things we need to do before bedtime.
We’re right there, doing one thing at a time.
For Brooke, even repetitive kitchen tasks like peeling pomegranates or chopping onions can be meditative. What some people find tedious, she finds therapeutic.
I found that perspective incredibly valuable because it challenged the way I had categorized cooking in my own mind.
I had often thought of preparing food as work. Something that needed to be done so I could move on to the next thing.
But what if we allowed some of that time to become an opportunity to slow down?
What if preparing a meal wasn’t always about how quickly we could finish, but also about experiencing the process?
That doesn’t mean everyone needs to fall in love with chopping vegetables. I’m certainly not suggesting that we all need to spend our evenings making elaborate dinners.
And cooking is not a substitute for professional mental health care when we need it.
But we can find small moments of presence in everyday activities. Cooking can be one of them.
Sometimes, caring for ourselves means allowing ourselves to be where we are instead of rushing through every moment to get somewhere else.
Let’s talk about another barrier that comes up all the time: money.
There is a common perception that eating well requires expensive ingredients, specialty products, and an enormous grocery budget.
Brooke challenged that idea by showing me how much we could do with ordinary, accessible ingredients.
Our tomato bisque used canned fire-roasted tomatoes, canned white beans, jarred roasted peppers, and cottage cheese. These were ingredients that were easy to find and didn’t require much preparation.
We paired the soup with a grilled cheese sandwich that included pesto, cheese, and spinach.
It was comforting, flavorful, and satisfying without requiring us to start from scratch with every ingredient.
Brooke also shared that she thinks about food in terms of value. As a physician who has managed significant student loan debt, she understands the importance of making meals that balance cost, convenience, taste, and nutrition.
I appreciated that honesty.
Eating well has to work in real life. It has to fit into our schedules, our budgets, our households, and our actual cooking abilities.
Otherwise, the advice isn’t particularly useful.
Sometimes the best meal is the one you can realistically prepare on a Tuesday evening when everyone is hungry and you have very little energy left.
Convenience isn’t a personal failure. Using canned beans isn’t a failure. Buying frozen vegetables isn’t a failure. Starting with a prepared ingredient and adding something nutritious is still a meaningful step.
We can learn to make better choices without shaming ourselves for the choices we have made in the past.
And we can appreciate the fact that small changes often make a difference.
One of the most refreshing parts of our conversation was the reminder that nutrition doesn’t have to be an endless list of restrictions.
There is so much information circulating about food that it can be difficult to know what to believe. One week we’re worried about an ingredient. The next week we’re told to eliminate an entire category of food. Before long, eating can feel like a minefield.
Brooke’s approach was much more practical and compassionate.
Rather than making food another source of fear, she looks for accessible ways to help people add nutritional value to what they’re already eating.
Could we add some beans to a soup? Could we put spinach on a pizza or into a sandwich? Could we include more vegetables in a meal we already enjoy?
These are small, achievable changes.
They also shift the conversation from deprivation to nourishment.
Instead of constantly asking what we need to remove, we can start asking what would help us feel more supported.
That doesn’t mean every ingredient is interchangeable or that individual nutritional needs don’t matter. It means we can approach our food choices with curiosity rather than fear.
Brooke also made an important distinction when we discussed food and mental health: food can be one tool for supporting our well-being, but it does not replace evidence-based mental health treatment, therapy, or appropriate medication.
We should never assume that someone’s depression, anxiety, or other health concerns are their fault because of what they eat.
Our health is complex, and people have different needs, resources, and circumstances.
But food is one area where many of us may be able to make small, supportive changes, without turning the process into another reason to criticize ourselves.
That is a much more empowering place to begin.
As I stood in my kitchen that day, wearing an apron and trying to make my grilled cheese look as good as Brooke’s, I realized that the experience itself was changing something for me.
I was learning, but I was also letting go of some of the intimidation I had associated with cooking.
I didn’t need to know everything before I started. I didn’t need every ingredient to be perfect. I didn’t need to have a beautifully staged kitchen or a lifetime of culinary experience.
I could experiment. I could ask questions. I could make a mess. I could learn something new and enjoy the result.
And perhaps most importantly, I could begin to see food as something more than fuel.
I could enjoy the flavor of a meal. I could appreciate the satisfaction of creating something with my own hands. I could think about how cooking might help me be more present with my family. I could make food an experience instead of simply a task.
That doesn’t mean I will suddenly become the person who wants to spend all Sunday preparing elaborate meals for the week.
Let’s be realistic.
But I can take what I learned and apply it in ways that work for me.
And so can you.
You might start by making a simple soup. You might invite your child to help stir a bowl of ingredients. You might try one new vegetable. You might sit down for a meal without looking at your phone. Or you might simply take a moment to appreciate the food in front of you.
You don’t need to do everything.
You just need to find a place to start.
If there’s one thing I hope you take away from this episode, it’s that you deserve a relationship with food that is nourishing, enjoyable, and free from unnecessary fear.
You don’t have to be a nutritionist to make thoughtful food choices. You don’t have to be a chef to prepare a satisfying meal. You don’t have to spend a fortune to find accessible ways to nourish yourself.
And you certainly don’t have to get everything right.
Start with what you have. Use the tools available to you. Find meals you enjoy. Add ingredients that help you feel nourished. Let yourself experiment. Give yourself credit for the little things.
And remember that food can connect us to so much more than the nutrients in a meal. It can connect us to our families, our memories, our cultures, our communities, and ourselves.
For me, this episode was a reminder that taking care of our bodies doesn’t have to be another rigid set of rules. It can be an opportunity to learn, to slow down, to enjoy, and to reconnect.
So here’s my challenge to you: the next time you prepare a meal, try to be a little more curious.
Notice the colors. Taste the ingredients. Think about where your food came from. Appreciate the people who helped bring it to your table. If you can, invite someone to share the experience with you.
And if all you manage to do today is make a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, that’s a pretty wonderful place to begin.
Because the goal isn’t to become perfect at eating.
The goal is to build a better relationship with the food that sustains us, one meal, one moment, and one small choice at a time.
And sometimes, all it takes is getting into the kitchen, putting on an apron, and being willing to try.
Let’s eat well. Let’s enjoy our food. And let’s stop making nourishing ourselves harder than it needs to be.
I’ll see you at the table.
— Daffney
Want to take the first step? Try the no-fuss tomato bisque and grilled cheese we made with Dr. Brooke Resch. Start with canned fire-roasted tomatoes, white beans, roasted red peppers, and cottage cheese. Blend until smooth, warm, and serve alongside a grilled cheese with pesto, mozzarella, and spinach. Make it your own, use what you have, and remember: progress over perfection. Watch us on YouTube at Dont F-knShrink
© 2024 Lift Pro Wellness.
Brand Design Implementation by East + Angst. Website by Forest Heart Studio.
© 2024 Lift Pro Wellness.
Brand Design Implementation by East + Angst.
Website by Forest Heart Studio.
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