When Did Food Become Medicine? The Shift from Pleasure to Function
In today's affluent western societies, a profound transformation has occurred in our relationship with food. What was once a source of daily joy and communal pleasure has increasingly morphed into a clinical tool for self-optimisation. This shift raises critical questions about when and why food became medicine, stripping away the simple delights of eating in favour of a relentless pursuit of nutritional perfection.
The Rise of Functional Eating and Dietary Neurosis
The crisis point for many arrives with bizarre dietary additions, such as sea moss shots or hemp protein powder. These supplements, often marketed with pseudoscientific claims, epitomise a broader trend where even ordinary meals feel functional—mere units of nutrition to be tallied and optimised. People find themselves obsessing over macros, micro-nutrients, and gut health, choking down unappetising items like flaxseeds not for taste, but for cholesterol management or digestive benefits.
This phenomenon is not merely personal neurosis; it reflects a cultural shift driven by social media and commercial interests. TikTok algorithms promote daily chia seed slurries, while influencers hawk lion's mane snacks and prebiotic drinks promising glowing skin and stronger immunity. Supermarkets are flooded with GLP-1-friendly products, and protein content is emblazoned in bold letters on yoghurt pots, reinforcing the idea that food's primary value lies in its functional benefits.
The Extreme End: Liquid Salads and Meal Replacements
At the extreme end of this trend lies the concept of nutritionally optimised slop, such as liquid salad—a blend of 13 fruits and vegetables in a pouch that requires no chewing. Meal replacements like Huel or green supplements like AG1, costing up to £59 per month, appeal to those eager to eliminate the hassle of food preparation. While convenient, these products strip eating of its sensory pleasures, reducing it to a mere task of nutrient consumption.
This functional, anhedonic approach to food is particularly prevalent among younger generations, who may memorise protein counts or experiment with bro-goo diets. It echoes historical patterns of dietary anxiety, such as women fixating on calorie counts, but now extends across genders, fuelled by a wellness industry that profits from our insecurities.
The Broader Implications: Health, Inequality, and Joy
Food can indeed be medicine, with growing research highlighting the gut microbiome's role in overall health and the need to address diet-related issues like colon cancer. However, the obsession with nutritional optimisation often neglects the social and emotional aspects of eating. For those with means, dietary neurosis is amplified by companies selling immunity shots and brain food packs, while many in the UK face food insecurity—14.1 million people lived in food-insecure households in 2024, according to the Trussell Trust.
By treating food solely as a tool for health, we risk losing the daily joy that meals can bring. Pleasure is a vital component of nourishment, offering flavour and connection that no supplement can replicate. As Lent approaches, some are embracing an anti-Lent approach—giving up anxiety-inducing nutritional content in favour of eating foods they genuinely love.
Ultimately, the challenge is to balance health awareness with culinary enjoyment, remembering that food should nourish both body and soul. It's time to reclaim the joy of eating, moving beyond the joyless pursuit of perfection to savour the simple pleasures of a well-loved meal.
