Whenever I open social media to escape the seriousness of life and the deadlines that constantly squeeze the energy out of me, my algorithm almost always serves me cooking videos. At first, I assumed it was simply because I had searched for recipes or watched a few food creators on cooking channels. I would find myself smiling as I watched meals come together, feeling lighter, calmer, and somehow happier. Surprisingly, I wasn’t even craving the foreign or local dishes I was watching. I didn’t want to cook them, nor did I necessarily want to eat them. I simply felt better.
Compared to the endless stream of disturbing news, political outrage, and emotionally draining content online, food videos became a welcome digital refuge. But as I paid closer attention, I noticed something intriguing about this phenomenon.
Many of the people posting these videos weren’t traditional food creators at all. They were telling deeply personal stories while chopping vegetables, lip-syncing humorous audio while preparing meals, discussing business opportunities over a simmering pot, or sharing life updates with food preparation playing quietly in the background.
That was when it dawned on me: perhaps this isn’t just about clever algorithms or my newfound digital dopamine booster. Perhaps it reflects a subconscious human impulse; an instinctual understanding of food as a powerful tool for emotional regulation and psychological grounding, especially during periods of collective trauma and economic uncertainty.
History offers a compelling parallel.
During the Great Depression of the 1930s, families developed creative recipes such as the now-famous “water pie,” created from inexpensive pantry staples when real ingredients were scarce. While these recipes were born out of absolute economic necessity, the act of cooking itself provided rhythm, purpose, and emotional stability during chaotic times. Preparing dough, stirring soups, or baking simple desserts gave people something tangible to control when the macro-world felt entirely unpredictable.
Today’s digital food culture serves a remarkably similar psychological function. Just as 1930s baking rituals helped families process financial anxiety, modern ASMR cooking videos offer a sanctuary for the overwhelmed modern mind.
There is a profound biological bridge at play here. When we watch slow, sensory food preparation, our brains activate mirror neurons, the neural networks responsible for empathy and vicarious experience. Even without taking a single bite, this vicarious engagement stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system, lowering our heart rate, slowing our breathing, and dialing down the fight-or-flight stress response. Watching someone transform raw ingredients into a nourishing meal provides vicarious neural relief, calming the mind without the need for actual consumption or emotional overeating.
Instead of turning to compulsive spending or binge eating to cope with existential stress, watching these appetizing meal preps allows us to tap into a proven blend of psychological safety and neurological relaxation.
The next time an appetizing meal catches your eye online, don’t just scroll past. Pause. Let the sights and ambient sounds trigger that deeply relaxing, spine-tingling euphoria; a natural bliss far beyond any artificial high. Stay in that peaceful moment for a few extra seconds before returning to the demands of reality.
To the countless content creators who unknowingly contribute to the emotional well-being of thousands while simply trying to satisfy the algorithm or earn a living: thank you. You are facilitating micro-healing sessions across the globe.
However, I have one crucial request for creators: keep the toxic, heavy, or traumatic stories separate from your visual meal preps. Human brains struggle to process traumatic, gut-wrenching audio while simultaneously trying to find somatic comfort in visually soothing cooking clips. Please preserve the sensory sanctuary.
Now, this brings us to how we treat this phenomenon in our everyday offline lives. Parents, guardians, and teachers: if a child or a loved one stares longingly at your food, do not label them as greedy or accuse them of having “long throat.”
In many cultures, “long throat” is weaponized as a term of shame for unspoken craving. But psychologically, watching someone eat often provides a comforting, parasocial sense of connection that eases emotional isolation. When resources are tight or emotional bandwidth is low, watching a loved one enjoy food activates those same comforting mirror neurons in the onlooker.
Even if you cannot share your physical meal, eat with pleasant, warm facial expressions. Allow them to vicariously enjoy the warmth and security of the experience through you, transforming what was once mocked as “long throat” into a moment of shared human relief.
Mokwe-Ijiko is founder, Eliakim Global
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