Like many of us in the US, I’m a proud child of immigrants, and let me tell you, the food at our family gatherings is nothing short of legendary. Seriously, if food were a love language, my family would be fluent in it—fluent, and also pretty darn verbose. Our kitchen could write a novel about its culinary prowess, and every meal is a chapter bursting with flavor and affection. But here’s where it gets a bit tangled: while our meals are all about bringing people together and making everyone feel warm and fuzzy inside, there’s a plot twist as surprising as finding a hidden ingredient in Grandma’s secret recipe.
In many immigrant cultures, food isn’t just fuel—it’s an emotional hug on a plate. My relatives don’t just cook; they whip up edible masterpieces meant to convey deep, heartfelt affection. It’s like they’re channeling their love into every morsel, creating dishes that are more than just sustenance—they’re declarations of devotion. But here’s the cultural paradox: while we’re elbow-deep in Grandma’s legendary marinated beef (and loving every bite), there’s often this unspoken pressure to fit into a very specific mold of body size and shape.
It’s as if my family is serving up the most delicious guilt trips on the side. I’d be at the dinner table, surrounded by mountains of food so scrumptious it should have its own fan club. My aunt nudges me with a grin and says, “Eat, eat! You’re too skinny!” It’s like she’s trying to feed me into a new weight class. But before I can even get another forkful into my mouth, someone else chimes in with, “Oh, but not too much—you are getting a little meaty,” leaving me wondering if I’m supposed to eat like I’m training for a marathon or dieting for a runway show.
It’s as if I’ve been cast in a high-stakes game show called “Guess the Perfect Portion,” where the rules change with every bite. It’s a culinary conundrum where the love I feel from the food might clash with the societal pressures to conform to a very particular body ideal. It’s basically the ultimate balancing act: trying to enjoy the feast while keeping one eye on the scale—and another on Grandma’s disapproving glance if I don’t finish every last morsel. Meanwhile, my cousin is over in the corner trying to explain the concept of “moderation” to a family that thinks “more” is a food group!
So here I am, stuck in this deliciously awkward paradox. I’m constantly trying to savor every bite of those lovingly prepared dishes while also dodging the hilarious landmines of family love and societal expectations. And let’s not even get started on the family photo albums, where we’re all sucking in our stomachs so hard it looks like we’re auditioning for a role as inflatable pool toys. It’s a frantic scramble to be a step or two behind everyone else, all to make our faces look smaller, as if a little distance and strategic angles could erase the extra helpings of dumplings.
Perhaps it’s high time we step away from the outdated narrative and start championing size inclusivity and acceptance of all body shapes. I know my family’s comments come from a place of love—albeit a very confusing, calorie-laden kind of love. They want the best for me, but the mixed messages can be a lot to handle. What we can’t change is other people’s ingrained habits or the way they express their love through food. What we can change is ourselves. We need to shift our own narratives, how we react to others, and how we break the cycle of body image issues.
Maybe it’s about embracing a new mindset where we recognize that our worth isn’t tied to our waistlines or how we stack up against some ideal image. We need to create spaces where people of all sizes feel valued, loved, and represented—not just at the dinner table but in every facet of life. We need to embrace the idea that our diverse bodies are worth celebrating and not just hidden or reshaped to fit an outdated mold.
Changing this narrative starts with us. We need to be brave enough to challenge those old-school norms and push for a culture where everyone feels accepted and appreciated for who they are, not just how they look. It’s about championing the notion that every body is a good body and every person deserves to feel loved and respected. After all, the most important ingredient in any family recipe is the love and acceptance we pour into it. And if we can make that happen, we’ll have a lot more to celebrate—whether it’s at a feast or in our everyday lives.