THE HIGHER LENS : 13
“Food is an emotion.”
There is no debating that statement. On the most basic level, we need food to live, but somewhere along the way, eating became more than survival. As human beings, we’ve spent centuries finding new ingredients, new ways to combine them, new ways to cook them, and new rituals around sharing them. Some people call themselves “foodies,” but really, most of us are connected to food in some personal way, whether or not we realize it.
I’ve noticed that people’s relationships with food are wildly different. Some see it as art. Others see it as comfort. Yet some see it as just something that happens as breakfast, lunch and dinner. I grew up around the food industry and have been lucky enough to go to some of the ‘best’ restaurants, wineries and food locations in the world. But even then, I didn’t always understand the “one bite” concept in fine dining. A couple years ago, I would sit politely in front of a painfully small portion, smile at the waiter, eat it, acknowledge it was fine, and then return to my conversation.
That changed when I visited The French Laundry in Napa Valley. A three-star journey from start to finish: the serene drive up to the restaurant, the warm interiors of a converted laundry house, and then, course after course of caviar, lobster, oysters, and everything in between. But what stayed with me wasn’t the luxury of the ingredients; it was the way the flavours were crafted to tell a story. Each bite was its own little firework, like that famous scene in Ratatouille when Remy first tries a strawberry with cheese and suddenly his world explodes into colour. And when you learn the stories behind the dishes, you cant help but respect the institution even more. Just one to share of the French Laundry: Chef Thomas Keller, one of the greatest Chefs to grace American soil, rings a bell every hour in the kitchen, every chef must stop what they’re doing, clean their area around them, then they carry on, this is to ensure utmost cleanliness but also enforces discipline and good habit. Thus, this meal was the first time I truly understood why people talk about food as art.
Of course, not every meal needs to be a Michelin-level extravaganza. The Michelin guide likes to loosely describe their criteria : one star means “worth a stop,” two stars means “worth a detour,” and three stars means “worth a journey.” But the truth is, even a humble home-cooked meal can be worth the journey, depending on who you share it with and what it means to you. That’s the emotional weight of food, it can transform an ordinary Tuesday dinner into something extraordinary, simply because of the love or memory attached to it.
This is something I know deeply as a half-Filipina. In the Philippines, food is more than nourishment, it’s an extension of family. Every gathering, no matter how small, carries an unspoken agreement to eat together over traditional dishes. At big celebrations, lechon, a whole roasted pig, often takes centre stage. It’s not just about eating pork; it’s about the hours of preparation, the laughter of many hands working together, and the communal joy of finally carving into it. Lechon is more than food, it’s a symbol of celebration, abundance, and the kind of togetherness that defines Filipino culture.
Even the simplest dishes carry meaning. My mother always told me that in the Philippines, you’re not truly ready to get married until you can make rice perfectly every grain cooked, not one bit over or under and none stuck to the pot. Rice is more than a staple; it’s a quiet test of patience, care, and respect for tradition. And then there’s pancit, the noodle dish that always appears at birthdays. The long strands symbolize long life and good fortune. As a child, I didn’t think much about these details, but as I’ve grown older, I see how food serves as a language of love and hope in Filipino households.
Food, in this sense, is always emotional. It comforts us, it marks milestones, it creates memories that last longer than the flavours. A bowl of rice shared at home can mean just as much as a carefully plated course in a Michelin-starred restaurant. A platter of pancit eaten with family can hold more weight than the most hyped-up trend. The emotions tied to food, love, pride, nostalgia, joy, are what make it universal. Whether we eat for art, comfort, habit, or fuel, food has a way of rooting us to something larger, our families, our histories, our communities, so maybe food really is an emotion.