Finding My Balance at the Table, Without Losing My Taste for Food

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I have never liked meals that try to put me in a straitjacket. With my schedule as a sound technician, my shifting hours, and evenings sometimes revolving around dance and electro, I know that balance does not look like a perfect rule. For me, it is more about a simple way of staying attuned to my body, without fooling myself or putting pressure on myself. I like food that tastes good, but I like it even more when what I eat helps me stay steady, clear-headed, and comfortable in my own skin. In LaBouffe, that is exactly what I am trying to express: I am chasing neither restriction nor excess; I am looking for a sense of rightness that lets me breathe. A dish that comforts without weighing me down, a plate that nourishes without leaving me drained, a meal that sets me right again when my day has been too intense or too out of sync. I think my relationship with food closely resembles the way I connect with people: I need respect, subtlety, and a minimum of trust. If I sense judgment, I quickly close myself off; if I sense sincere intent, I open up more. It is the same with what I eat. I prefer habits I can sustain over grand resolutions that collapse at the first slip-up. I try to keep flexible reference points, leave room for pleasure, and avoid confusing balance with deprivation. A good meal, for me, is often one that matches how I feel in the moment: something simple when I am tired, something more vibrant when I need momentum, something unapologetically indulgent when I simply want to find a little warmth again. In this section, then, I write about cooking and nutrition the way I live the rest of my life: with a quiet sensitivity, a need for trust above all else, and the desire to remain true, without betraying myself.