This Question Started Years Ago — In Front of a Screen, and Inside a Kitchen
This question didn’t start recently.
It began years ago, quietly.
I remember watching a documentary on YouTube late one night.
Not casually, not as background noise —
but with the kind of attention that stays with you long after the screen goes dark.
I didn’t accept what I saw as absolute truth.
But I didn’t dismiss it either.
I let the question sit.
When health became personal
Around that time, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism.
That diagnosis changed the way I looked at my body —
and slowly, the way I looked at food.
Health was no longer abstract.
It became something I had to live with, respond to, and care for every day.
As my awareness grew, my relationship with cooking deepened.
I began thinking not only about what tastes good,
but about how to sustain a lifestyle that actually feels supportive —
physically, mentally, emotionally.
Reading cookbooks has always been one of my quiet joys.
But once health entered the picture,
nutritional information and ingredient lists began to catch my eye naturally.
Not out of fear —
but out of curiosity.
The kitchen changed the question
As I continued studying cooking and working in professional kitchens,
that lingering question followed me — and slowly transformed.
I don’t think I ever worked in a restaurant
that didn’t rely heavily on seed oils.
Large containers.
Neutral flavor.
High heat tolerance.
Cost efficiency.
From prep to service,
from sauté to fryer,
seed oils were simply everywhere.
They weren’t discussed.
They weren’t chosen intentionally.
They were assumed.
Standing inside those kitchens,
I began to feel something I hadn’t expected.
Sadness.
Not anger.
Not judgment.
Just sadness.
Because hospitality, at its core,
is meant to be about care.
Holding the question
This journal is not an accusation.
It’s not a conclusion.
I wasn’t looking for a villain.
I was noticing a disconnect.
Between food made to move fast
and food meant to support a body.
Between efficiency
and nourishment.
This is where the question began.
And this is where I choose to stay with it.
—
My Kitchen, My Calm.

