On Cooking, Slowing Down, and Why the Dinner Table Still Matters
Where the Healing Begins
“When we gather to eat, we gather to remember who we are.”
— Wendell Berry
There are few things more nourishing—for the body and for the spirit—than learning how to cook simple, beautiful meals at home.
From a functional medicine perspective, cooking at home helps us take back our health. We know that preparing whole foods with love and intention supports everything from blood sugar balance to inflammation, digestion, and even mood. But it’s more than just nutrients. It’s about rhythm. Ritual. Presence.
From a life perspective—from a soul perspective—coming home to the table is one of the most healing things we can do.
I’m not talking about anything elaborate. I’m talking about turning on some music. Lighting a candle. Chopping garlic and herbs. Putting something together with your hands, even if it’s just a simple soup or roasted vegetables and bread. Setting the table—even if it’s just for one—with care. Sitting down. Breathing between bites. Laughing. Listening. Sharing something you made with the people you love.
It changes the quality of the evening.
And over time, it changes the quality of a life.
A Porch, a Bowl of Peas, and the Sweetest Sound
This afternoon, I spent nearly an hour and a half shelling peas with my grandson, Wolfie. We sat together on the porch while the chickens milled about, dropping the peas into a big bowl—laughing, chatting, snapping them open one by one.
He loved the sound they made, that bright pop of summer.
And I just kept thinking… this is what it’s all about.
It was simple.
It was slow.
And it was perfect.
We’re going to make soup with those peas, and I know that every bite will carry the fun of that afternoon. There’s something about food made like this—together, with love—that nourishes more than just our bodies. It feeds something timeless.
Study after study has shown that people who cook at home—and sit down to eat together—tend to live longer, feel more connected, and experience less stress. Children are more likely to thrive when they grow up with regular family meals. Adults report greater happiness when their days include time to prepare and enjoy food mindfully.
And none of it needs to be complicated.
In fact, the simpler the better.
One of the things I remember most clearly from my childhood—something that has sustained me during some of the hardest times in my life—was how my mother insisted we sit down for dinner every single night, together.
Oh, there were nights I didn’t want to.
But now?
I treasure those memories more than I can say.
She was particular about it, too. Always candlelight. Always the good dishes. It wasn’t about being fancy—it was about making dinner matter. Creating a sense of occasion, even on a Tuesday.
These days, I’ll be honest—I could care less about your dishes. You can eat on paper plates as long as they get you around the table. But give me a cloth napkin. Not only are they better for the environment, but they’re soft, reusable, and make even the simplest meal feel like an act of care.
And if you ever feel like you don’t have “nice things” for the table? Walk into any Goodwill or thrift store. You’ll find beautiful dinner plates for nearly nothing—and using them makes everyday meals feel just a little more magical. It doesn’t have to cost much. It just has to feel like it matters.
Because what your children—and your inner child—will always remember is this:
That you sat down.
That you made time.
That you were together.
We often began our meals with a question: “What are we thankful for?”
And from there, the meal unfolded with stories, jokes, and the kind of goodwill that carries you into the next day with a lighter heart.
So what if you think you don’t know how to cook?
Start here and think of the food you love to eat. The kind that makes you feel nourished, satisfied, at peace.
Now find five or six recipes that feature those foods, and learn how to cook them really well. Not fancy. Not fussy. Just yours.
Start with whole foods, organic if possible—but the most important thing is that they’re real fruits, vegetables, whole grains, simple proteins.
Shop around the outer edges of the store, where the food still resembles what it once was.
Processed food, while convenient, is often filled with ingredients that disconnect us from our vitality. It can drive inflammation, disrupt energy, and dull our senses. The more we cook at home, the more we begin to taste again—flavor, freshness, life.
If you’ve never cooked with beans or tofu, give them a try.
Or try a plant-based day each week, just to experiment.
Whether you eat meat or not, what matters most is intention.
That you slow down.
That you take time.
That you prepare your own food, because when you cook, you put your energy into the meal.
And when you share it, your family and friends absorb that energy—your care, your love, your creativity, your steadiness.
That’s what people remember.
Not the perfect sear on the chicken. Not whether you used the right pan.
They remember that you made something for them.
That you showed up and that you said, “Come. Eat. Be here.”
Beth’s Summer Beet Soup
This is one of my favorite soups—bright, earthy, simple, and deeply nourishing. You can serve it hot or chilled, and you can play with the flavors until it becomes entirely your own.
You’ll need:
8 good-sized beets, washed and brushed
Filtered water
1–1½ cups fresh dill
1 small onion, peeled and chopped
1–2 teaspoons organic chicken bouillon (or vegetable, if preferred)
1 cup ricotta cheese
1 cup oat milk (adjust for creaminess)
Sea salt and pepper to taste
Optional: cumin, caraway, or a touch of honey
Creme fraîche, for serving
To make:
Cube the beets and simmer them in filtered water until fork-tender. Drain, but be sure to save the beet water.
In batches, puree the cooked beets in a blender (or a high-speed beater mix), adding just enough of the reserved beet water to get a silky texture. Once all the beets are blended and back in the pot, add your onion, dill, bouillon, ricotta, and oat milk to the final batch of puree, and blend until smooth. Pour everything together, stir gently, and warm on low heat (or chill if serving cold).
Taste and adjust.
Want something spicier? Try a bit of cumin or caraway.
Want it on the sweeter side? A touch of honey and extra dill will do the trick.
Serve warm or chilled, with a drizzle of crème fraîche and a bit of extra dill over the top. It’s beautiful in a white bowl on a summer evening.
Try It, Love It, Tweak It
If you make this beet soup, I’d love to hear what you think!
Tag me, rate it, share your twist on it. Did you serve it cold with crème fraîche? Warm with a swirl of oat cream? Did you add cumin or caraway? I always love to know how a recipe finds its way into your kitchen.
A Journaling Prompt for the Week
What’s one dish that makes you feel safe, rooted, or joyful?
What would it look like to prepare that dish slowly, with care—just for you, or for someone you love?
What’s one ritual—however small—you could add to your evening meal to bring more beauty and presence to the table?
✨ A Blessing for the Table
May the food you prepare be a reflection of your love.
May your hands remember what they’ve always known.
May your home be a place where nourishment goes beyond the body.
And may every bite you take bring you closer to the wholeness that is already yours.
“Cooking is at once child’s play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love.”
— Craig Claiborne
Raising a chilled glass of mead, a soft breeze, and gratitude for your company,
Beth
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Come read. The table’s set.
Lovely post Beth.