Real Food for Real Life: Finding our Way Back to the Kitchen

While enjoying Vancouver’s bustling restaurant scene recently, I found myself watching as young professionals casually dropped $50 on weekday lunches, and families were treating high-end steakhouses as routine dining spots. Not for celebrations or special occasions, just regular Tuesday dinners on their way home from work.

It wasn't the spending itself that struck me, but what it represents: a fundamental shift in how we view the role of food in our lives. It’s as if this segment of the population doesn’t consider cooking at home as the norm anymore. Or maybe they don’t consider cooking for themselves at all? Is it because they honestly enjoy the experience of dining out or they believe they’re getting good value and good nutrition for their money? Is it because they have no time to plan, shop, or prepare meals? Or is it because they just don’t know where to begin? I suspect it’s a combination of all those things.

As my own children have gone from eating Mom’s home cooking to fending for themselves, I’m seeing this transition in real time. They do enjoy cooking for themselves, and often call to ask for their favourite family recipes. But as they face the real costs of feeding themselves every day, there’s still a temptation to stock their cupboards full of ramen noodles or resort to cheap takeout!

What's the story behind this shift away from our kitchens? And what does it tell us about our relationship with food, both practical and financial? More importantly, how do we get back to a “real food” approach to feeding ourselves, one that acknowledges our practical, financial and time constraints, while at the same time providing fuel for a healthy lifestyle and a food experience worth making time for?

The Restaurant Generation

Every food culture has a unique narrative, and ours is rapidly evolving. We're becoming what I've started calling "the restaurant generation"—a cohort that views dining out (and the expense thereof) not as an occasional treat but as the default way to fuel our bodies.

The kitchen was once the heart of every home—a place of learning, connection, and creativity. I think of my mom's worn recipe cards, splattered with sauce and filled with margin notes. And I remember summers spent picking raspberries and tomatoes from my Aunt’s farm garden. Those experiences taught me that real food has a story—it comes from somewhere, is grown by someone, and carries with it the energy of the soil. In today’s fast-paced world, we’ve not only disconnected from our kitchens but from our food itself.

In my own journey from home cook to restaurant owner and food business mentor, I've witnessed this transformation from both sides of the pass. The truth is, we seem to have forgotten that cooking isn't a specialized skill reserved for professionals—it's a fundamental practice that connects us to our bodies, our friends and family, and our own cultures.

The Economics We Don't Talk About

"It's almost the same price to eat out since groceries are so expensive,” my own kids tell me—despite growing up in a home where family meals were the norm. Is it really though? How can they even think that?

Understanding how restaurant economics work, and the careful calculations of food costs, labour, overhead, and profit margins that go into pricing every dish, I know that a $24 pasta dish (without tips, tax or delivery costs) probably costs a restaurant about $8 in actual ingredients. That same meal prepared at home might cost $5-6 and 20 minutes of your time. With leftovers for lunch the next day!

The difference is that restaurant economics rely on your perception of value rather than actual food costs.

The other thing that my restaurant experience has taught me — which may be even more important — is the first rule of flavour: the better anything tastes in a restaurant, the more fat, sugar, or salt it likely contains. These are the secret weapons of professional kitchens—used liberally and without apology because they deliver the flavour hit that keeps customers coming back. And unless you’re willing to double your budget, they probably won’t be using organic ingredients from local producers either.

Beyond the Balance Sheet

The true cost of outsourcing our meals extends far beyond our wallets. I know that not everyone loves to cook and spend time in their kitchens like I do. But there’s a quiet satisfaction in creating your own meals and knowing exactly what goes into them—whether that means kneading bread dough on a Sunday afternoon, or chopping vegetables for a pot of soup.

When we outsource our meals, we surrender some important things:

• control over what actually enters our bodies;

• the ability to adjust flavors to our personal preferences;

• connection to cultural traditions and family history;

• the meditative quality of creating something with our hands; and

• opportunities for genuine connection around the table.

I'm not suggesting we all need to become gourmet chefs or never enjoy restaurant dining. What I’m advocating for is a more intentional relationship with how we feed ourselves.

The Path Forward

In my experience working with food businesses and home cooks alike, I've found that the biggest barrier isn't skill—it's mindset. We've convinced ourselves that cooking is complicated, time-consuming, and somehow beyond our capabilities. Yet humans have been preparing their own food for thousands of years, long before celebrity chefs and cooking shows made it seem like a specialized skill.

Instead of seeing meal prep as another obligation, what if we approach our kitchens as fun, creative spaces? A place where you can practice self-reliance while honouring the fundamental human activity of feeding yourself and those you care about. And yes, saving money while you’re at it!

The journey back to real food doesn’t require perfection—it begins with curiosity rather than expertise. Perhaps it starts with just one meal a week—something simple that brings you satisfaction. Maybe it's mastering a single technique like roasting vegetables or making sushi. Or perhaps it's creating a small collection of "emergency meals" that you can prepare with ingredients you typically have on hand.

What small step might you take this week to rebuild this relationship? Perhaps it's preparing just one more home-cooked meal than last week. Or mastering a single, simple technique that opens up new possibilities. Whatever it is, your kitchen is waiting—not as another source of pressure in your life, but as a place of potential creativity and nourishment in its truest sense.