Date: April 22, 2025
Author: Michael Donovan
Growing up, I always felt like I didn’t quite fit in. At school, lunch was the hardest part of the day. It wasn’t because I didn’t enjoy eating—on the contrary, food was one of the few things that brought me comfort. But I was that kid who ate alone. I remember watching the popular kids in their little groups, laughing and sharing their lunch. There was a sense of camaraderie and belonging that I never really had.
Instead, I found myself sitting in corners, away from the chaos, often eating in places no one would bother to look—by the ground, near the staircases, or even by the terrace. It was as if I didn’t deserve to be part of that collective joy. I wasn’t one of the “macho” guys, and that made me a target. My classmates would often mimic how I spoke, or mock my walk. They saw me as different, and their teasing was a daily reminder that I wasn’t like everyone else.
But despite the loneliness, I found solace in food. There was something about cooking, the process of preparing a meal, that gave me a sense of purpose. Maybe it was because food had always been a way to connect with others—something I felt I was missing. I would often experiment with recipes at home, trying to perfect dishes that would remind me of comfort. I started to realize that cooking wasn’t just about making something to eat; it was about creating an experience, about offering something to others that could bring them joy.
Fast forward to today, and cooking has become one of the most satisfying parts of my life. There’s this deep sense of happiness I get from feeding people, from seeing their eyes light up when they taste something I’ve made. It’s the opposite of how I felt as a kid. Instead of sitting alone in the corners, I now create opportunities for people to gather around me, to share a meal, and to connect.
Food has this magical ability to break down barriers. It doesn’t matter what background you come from, or how different we are. When you share a meal with someone, you share a part of yourself. Every dish I prepare is an offering, a way of showing that I care. There’s a deep satisfaction in knowing that something I’ve crafted with my hands can make someone’s day a little better. In a world where I often felt unseen, feeding others gave me the chance to be noticed for something positive, something beautiful.
Now, when I cook, I don’t just see it as a task—it’s a form of expression, a way to communicate. And it brings me immense joy to know that the meals I prepare can create the same sense of connection I once longed for as a child. It’s my way of bringing people together, of making them feel welcomed, cherished, and understood. Cooking is no longer just about food; it’s about building relationships and finding happiness in the shared experience.
