#1 – What If Food Could Help Us Understand Each Other Better?

Could mixing the inquisitiveness of youth with food culture gently lift the veil that divides us?

I think it might.

Mateo, an autistic second grader at the school where I work, looks forward to lunch every day. He always brings food from home, meals that fit his need for predictability and comfort.

His lunches often reflect his South American roots. Empanadas are a regular feature.

At the table, his classmates lean in with curiosity. “What is that?”
“Is it like a pie?”

As I move between tables, opening milk cartons, helping with stubborn smoothie pouches, I notice something simple but powerful: curiosity without judgment.

These young students are encountering something unfamiliar, and instead of rejecting it, they’re interested. Open. Engaged.

This curiosity is the door that educators can prop open to teach food literacy. 

But what if we pushed it open just a little further?

What if food literacy also included food culture?

Not as a formal lesson. Not as something forced.
But as something woven gently into everyday learning.

Because food is more than fuel.
Its identity.
It’s history.
It’s a story passed from one generation to the next.

In a classroom, food can become a bridge.

A homemade lunch can spark a conversation.
A question can turn into understanding.
A shared moment can quietly dissolve a barrier.

Children don’t start with division. They start with curiosity.

Can we nurture that curiosity?

So the question isn’t just whether food culture and literacy belong in education.

It’s whether we’re willing to use something so universal, so human, to help our children see each other more clearly.

What role do you think food and culture should play in education?

#2 – Some kids need sameness to feel safe. Others crave something new. A lunch table holds both.

Routine vs exposure

Many kids need sameness in what they eat to feel safe, while others crave adventure. For several summers, I cooked at a summer camp, and many moms would deliver their campers on the first day with care packages of their favorite foods. Beyond dietary needs, some have a particular brand of bread for toast, boxed mac n cheese, and even snacks. Other moms would stop by the kitchen and complement the staff for the creative snacks like dill pickle popcorn and memorable meals like the chile verde made with chilis and tomatillos, the campers picked in the garden.

Carla, the kid from Carla’s Sandwich, written by Debbie Herman, would have been a perfect addition to the adventuresome campers. Her zest for trying new things and creative combinations was supercharged.

Some kids need sameness to feel safe. Others crave something new. A lunch table holds both.

Many kids rely on familiar foods to feel comfortable.

Others are drawn to something different, something unexpected.

I saw both every summer when I worked at a camp kitchen.

On the first day, some parents would stop by the camp kitchen, arriving with care packages, favorite foods packed with intention. Not just for dietary needs, but for comfort. A specific brand of bread for toast, a particular boxed mac and cheese, and even explicit types of snacks.

A taste of home, carefully planned and packed to accompany the young camper.

Other parents would stop by the kitchen for a different reason.

They’d thank us.

For the dill pickle popcorn.

For the meals made with ingredients campers picked themselves, chile verde with fresh tomatillos and chilis from the garden.

Two different needs.

Both are equally valid.

It makes me think about the balance we try to strike with kids like Mateo, from Blog #1, the second grader from my school.

Predictability creates safety.

But exposure creates possibility.

And both matter.

I’m reminded of Carla from the children’s book, Carla’s Sandwich by Debbie Herman, fearless in her curiosity, building combinations most of us wouldn’t think to try.

Every classroom has a few Carlas.

And plenty of kids who aren’t there yet.

Maybe the goal isn’t to push kids from one side to the other.

Maybe it’s to make space for both.

To honor what feels safe

while gently opening the door to something new.

How do we balance comfort and curiosity for the kids we teach?