Nothing screams superiority quite like bringing your own food to someone’s house for dinner. It’s rude, antisocial, and downright strange. And yet, despite me knowing all this, it was something I used to do regularly. Aubergine curry squashed into a tiny Tupperware container? Yep. Precooked quinoa and my own personal “glow bowl”? Why not? Leftover “detox salad” from the night before? Go on then.
It wasn’t that I was following a particular diet, or that I was a really picky eater. And I certainly wasn’t looking for a way to show off my cooking skills, of which I have none. It was much simpler than that. I just wanted to be “well”, even if I didn’t know exactly what that meant. Nonetheless, I was desperately seeking a body entirely free from “toxins” – one that would radiate goodness in all its forms. And so my friends’ chilli con carnes and lasagnes were firmly struck off the menu. This was wellness, and I was obsessed.
