I recently returned from a five-day silent retreat, and while there’s so much I could say about the experience, I want to start with what is near and dear to my heart—the food, of course. And not just the food itself, but the experience of eating—more specifically, the joy of eating.
So often in today’s world, the joy of eating feels like it has been stripped away. There’s so much thought around food. So much information about food. So much right and wrong about food. But on this retreat, there was only room for joy and pleasure.
In my private practice, my clients and I go beyond what to eat—we explore how to eat. You might be thinking, Doesn’t everyone know how to eat? But what I mean is approaching food in a way that feels nourishing, respectful, and connected to our body’s natural hunger and fullness cues. We often hear terms like “mindful eating” or “intuitive eating,” but at its core, it’s about our relationship with food, our eating experience, and ultimately, our relationship with ourselves.
My clients are encouraged to sit down while eating, chew slowly, and take their time. Not only does this help digestion (which actually begins in the mouth, where enzymes start breaking down carbohydrates), but it also allows us to truly experience our food. But after this retreat, I realized those are just the mechanics of a mindful eating experience. Feeding ourselves and others is a beautiful expression of self-care.
I thought I knew just about everything there was to know about mindful eating—both mentally and physically. The most important way I practice it is by sitting down and eating without distractions, being present with my food and myself at least a couple of times a day. But, of course, there are barriers. There’s the constant feeling that we have so much to do—we try to squeeze in emails while we eat, or as parents, we find ourselves up and down from the table, meeting our kids’ needs. Meals are often rushed—before sports practice, music lessons, or a Zoom meeting. There are both perceived and real barriers to eating and only eating.
When I wrote The Mediterranean Table years ago, one thing that stood out to me was how Mediterranean cultures celebrate food. They savor their meals. It’s a reflection of their slower, more intentional way of life—something we often lack in Western culture. And while I know I can’t singlehandedly change that, I do have my moments of quiet rebellion—reminding myself that I don’t have to conform all the time.
What I Learned from Eating in Silence…
Over those five days, we were encouraged to avoid eye contact or even small pleasantries like saying hello when passing another retreater on a hike. It might sound harsh, but the idea was to keep our energy within—to simply be without feeling the need to engage or perform. It was surprisingly liberating. Let’s just say, the Atlanta airport on my way home felt like a shock to the system.
I loved every single meal we ate. Chef David was incredible. (If you’re ever near Asheville, his company, Sweet Potato Tooth, is amazing.) Since we couldn’t verbally compliment him, we’d leave little notes on the paper menu about how much we loved his food. I especially looked forward to dessert—dark chocolate brownies, crispy rice treats with black sesame seeds, and quinoa chocolate chip cookies.
Eating in complete silence, I noticed everything—the overwhelming gratitude of simply having food in front of me (especially since I didn’t have to plan, prep, or cook it) and the sheer pleasure of eating food made with such care. It was a gift.
One of my most memorable meals was a simple bowl of oatmeal with blueberries, peanut butter, honey, and yogurt. As I stirred it together, I could smell each individual ingredient. I found myself eating so slowly that the meal stretched to 25 minutes—compared to my usual 10-15 minutes at home. Between bites, the spoon went down and I noticed how different amounts of food felt in my mouth, how the flavors combined, and—maybe most strikingly—the total lack of judgment about how much I was eating. I just paid attention to my fullness.
At every meal, I ate everything on my plate because it was so good. But it was also interesting to observe how fullness and satisfaction varied from meal to meal.
One small moment stuck with me: during that oatmeal breakfast, I had a single blueberry that just wouldn’t get onto my spoon. I found myself laughing (internally, of course) at how ridiculous and delightful it was. Such a small, silly thing—but it reminded me how enjoyable eating can be when we’re fully present for it. Ah, the joy of eating! I felt like a child again.
Bringing It Home
Now that I’m back, I haven’t been able to fully recreate that experience (not even close). But I’m taking small pieces of it with me, and that feels good.
I’m noticing my pace of eating and, when possible, intentionally slowing down. I’m more in tune with my hunger and fullness cues. I take a second to consider how the food got to my table, finding gratitude for those who made it possible. I’m enjoying eating and only eating—but also making space to do what I want! Like last night’s dinner, paired with the newest episode of Severance. SO GOOD.
In addition to the how of eating, I also came back with a renewed excitement to mix things up in the kitchen. It’s so easy to fall into food routines, reaching for the same ingredients again and again. But at the retreat, I rediscovered my love for red kidney beans, all kinds of greens, and avocado. Somehow, the chef managed to find perfectly ripe avocados—like velvet in the mouth.
One of my favorite discoveries was a condiment called Zhoug—a spicy, cilantro-based sauce that made everything taste incredible. It reminded me how powerful sauces and condiments can be in transforming a meal. Over the next couple of weeks, I’ll be sharing recipes inspired by the retreat—including that Zhoug sauce. Will my kids eat it? Probably not. But I’m putting it on the table anyway.
It was an incredible privilege to have this experience, and I don’t take that for granted. But the joy of eating isn’t something we have to save up for. Small pieces of that joy are available at your next meal. You are worthy of joy when eating—not information, judgment, or macros.
Hopefully at least one recipe in this week’s menu sparks that joy for you.
XO,
Jen