Have you forgotten the joy of food?

When did the food we eat become boring, stressful and tiresome?

My earliest memories of eating take place at my grandparents’ house. Grampy’s speciality was eggs, toast cut into strips, served with a side of peas. To my childish delight and confusion, these strips of toast were called 'soldiers'. I remember him sitting next to me, telling me to eat the peas one at a time because they were too hot. To me, his word was gospel and for years I obediently impaled my peas individually - much to my parents’ despair, as they would impatiently wait for me to finish my meals.

My paternal grandmother was even more creative. Whenever I went round to their house, I was served “Volcano Mountain”. This was a huge pile of buttery mashed potato, with a molten core of tart tomato ketchup. For a more substantial meal, the mountain would become an island, surrounded by a shark (sausage) infested sea of baked beans.

They introduced me to the concept that food could be more than nourishment. It could be playful, exciting, creative. I don’t think four-year-old me ever worked up the courage to dip those soldiers into the gooey yolk of the egg, but it was the love that went into every meal which made it nourishing, not the ingredients on the plate.

I’m sure many people have a similar introduction to the pleasures of food. Home cooking and comfort food are often synonymous with the meals of our childhoods, cooked by parents and grandparents.

But for me and many others, that relationship with food has never been quite so pure and simple since. As I progressed into my teenage years, food stopped being about pleasure and started being about control. Simple fuel to function. The faster my sense of control over my school and personal life slipped away, the more tightly I gripped on to every aspect of my diet. It's easy to forget the playfulness and deliciousness of a meal cooked with love, when each corner of society is constantly bombarding you with conflicting messages about what (and how) you should (and shouldn't) eat.

As I grew older, food ceased to be a metaphor for love. It was no longer a gift to my soul via my stomach. And I know, in one form or another, this feeling will be familiar to so many people. Perhaps the reason that the meals of our childhood seem so comforting to us is because they remind us of a time before things became complicated. When food meant pleasure and fulfillment. For a few mouthfuls we can forget the constant pressures and anxieties we’ve developed around food, and simply enjoy.

As time has gone on I’ve managed to relearn how to love food, purely and simply. Bizarrely, it began during that time of anxiety, as my love for cooking started to blossom. What may have initially been just another method of taking back control of each and every bite, instead transformed into a life-long passion. Chopping, frying,baking and roasting all soothed my poor frazzled nerves, and showed me the other side to food. Food as the language of love. The delicious meals you cook for those closest to you are an expression of love. Since I learnt that, I haven’t stopped.

The act of cooking both for and with others can become so much more than an evening meal. It is an excuse to bring families and friends together. It is a way of sharing your culture, your background, your discoveries, and of learning from one another.

I doubt there are many people who haven’t struggled with their relationship to food, even if only on a small scale. Despite their potential for good, mealtimes are often fraught with anxiety and confusion which disrupts the healing power that a good shared meal can have.

Food and cooking has the potential to be one of life’s greatest joys. Cooking with a family member or friend can be an opportunity for anything, from a heart-to-heart to a laughing fit. Trying out a new and exciting recipe, or even developing your own, gives you the chance to flex that creative muscle. Making a meal for someone you love is the simplest, most sincere way of showing you care.

Even if you live alone, begin by showing love to yourself through the food you make. Something lift your spirits and sustain your soul. It doesn't have to have an ingredient list longer than your noodles; it just needs to make you smile and your tastebuds tingle.

All food can be food for the soul when it's made with care, no matter how silly.

Recipe for Volcano Island

2-3 potatoes, cut into cubes

Generous squeeze of tomato ketchup

Small tin of baked beans (with or without sausages)

Pat of butter

1) Make the mash, by boiling the potatoes until soft. Drain the water from the pan and mash together with a splash of milk and pat of butter to taste.

2) Heat up the beans in the microwave or on the hob according to instructions on the tin.

3) Begin assembling your island. Form a dome shape with the mashed potato in the centre of a wide bowl. Using any utensils to hand, poke a hole into the centre of the potato and squeeze in some ketchup. Cover it over and add some more ketchup on top for good measure.

4) Add the finishing touch by pouring the beans into the bowl, so that your mountain is surrounded by a sea of beans.

5) Enjoy the silly and delicious plate of goodness you have just created!