It’s Not About the Food—And It Is: The Return of a Foodie, Healing, Eating, and a Night at Spago

“A personal story of recovery, resilience, and reclaiming joy one bite at a time.”

If you’ve spent any time in the eating disorder world (or even if you haven’t),

you’ve likely heard the phrase: “It’s not about the food… and it’s about the food.”

For those in recovery, this paradox holds deep truth. We must unpack the

underlying emotional and psychological factors that created a disordered

relationship with food in the first place. That’s the “not about the food” part. But

we also have to rebuild that relationship—to actually change how we interact with

food, nourish ourselves, and find joy in eating again. That’s the “it is about the

food” part. And that’s the piece I want to share here.

As far back as I can remember—literally, since I was two and a half—I was a

natural-born foodie. My mom still tells the story of the time we went out to dinner,

and the waiter asked what I wanted. Without missing a beat, tiny me replied,

“Clams oreganata diced up on the half shell.” My parents must have laughed so

hard.

As a kid, I was always adventurous with food. Frog legs, escargot—you name it.

There’s even a photo of me on some holiday, proudly holding up a knife and fork

ready to carve into what was left of a leg of lamb bone with a huge, toothless

grin. I was never picky. I loved food.

Which is why my eating disorder, which developed in high school, made my

relationship with food so painfully complicated. But I recovered. Slowly, steadily, I

found my way back to myself—and to food. I didn’t just start eating again. I

reconnected with my passion. I discovered a love for cooking. Feeding others

became a joy, a creative outlet, and a form of connection.

And then 2015 happened.

I’ll never forget sitting at dinner with my daughter’s classmates and their parents.

We were all gathered for a beautiful meal, and I was so excited—until the food

was placed in front of me. In that moment, I was flooded with terror. I couldn’t

take a bite.

The eating disorder I thought I had left behind had returned. It had been brewing

for some time. I’d been confronted about it, I’d denied it, and I’d convinced myself

it wasn’t real—until that very moment. I sat there, panicked, realizing the truth: I

loved food, I loved cooking, I loved feeding people, entertaining,

experimenting—and all of those parts of me were gone.

I’ve told this story before—on blogs, in professional talks. But now, nearly ten

years later, I want to share what it means to be here in 2025, in a very different

place, and to have had an experience that never would’ve been possible without

recovery.

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to travel to California for the first

time—Beverly Hills, no less. Home to Rodeo Drive, the Hollywood Walk of Fame,

the iconic sign—it was all fun to see. But the highlight of the trip? Dining at

Wolfgang Puck’s Spago Beverly Hills.

For those who don’t know, Wolfgang Puck is a renowned chef known for blending

French technique with Asian and California flavors. He’s been a culinary

trailblazer, with cookbooks, shows, and a reputation that helped shape modern

California cuisine. Spago has even held two Michelin stars.

Of course, I wasn’t going to settle for the à la carte menu. I went all in for the

nine-course tasting menu—with wine pairings. Each dish was exquisite,

inventive, and beautifully plated. The flavors, the textures—some of them not for

the faint of heart—were an adventure in themselves.

The staff made the night even more special. Jason, our waiter, and Erin, who

oversaw the floor, were warm, welcoming, and attentive. I asked Erin if I could

photograph her with this life-sized wine bottle she brought to the table. I

explained why—because I was going to write about this experience, and what it

meant to me. She not only agreed but shared her own personal connection to

eating disorders, and her support of raising awareness.

As I sat there, savoring each course, breathing in the aromas, smiling at the

presentation—I felt it fully. If I were still in my eating disorder, I would never have

had this experience. Or maybe I’d have gone, but I wouldn’t have been present. I

wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

I’m not going to tell you that I never struggle with body image anymore—those

thoughts still creep in. We live in a world that makes it hard not to and it certainly

makes it hard to age. But these thoughts don’t dictate my behavior. They don’t

rob me of moments like this.

So yes—recovery is not about the food, because I’ve had to unpack so many

emotional layers along the way. And yes—it is about the food, because I got back

my love of eating, cooking, creating, and connecting.

Recovery gave me the Spago experience.

And I don’t take a single bite of that for granted.