Mindful Monday: Food That Tastes Like Love

One of the many things I appreciate about summer is the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables from the local farmers around us. There’s something about eating food grown close to home that feels grounding, nourishing, and deeply familiar.
 
Blueberry season is almost here, and I’m looking forward to picking some of those sweet little gems.

Just last week, I was sharing with a friend some of my fondest blueberry memories, all rooted in Prince Edward Island. Every year, when I was growing up, we’d visit my grandparents there. Both of my parents were born on the island, so it always felt like home, like my roots.
 
My mom’s parents lived on a farm, the very one where she grew up. There was always an abundance of homegrown, delicious food.
 
One of my favourite memories is of my grandma handing us kids a bucket and sending us down the red dirt road to pick wild blueberries—and they were abundant!

We’d eat as many as we picked, and when our buckets were full, we’d head home where Grandma would bake a fresh blueberry pie.

Just writing about it now brings back that childlike delight I felt then.
 
Her pies truly tasted like love. 

Several years ago, when my sisters and I were visiting PEI, we returned to the old farm on Toronto Road. We noticed a car in the driveway and decided to stop. A woman came out to greet us, and when we told her that our mom had grown up there and that we had spent many summers visiting, she immediately asked us if we would like to take a tour of the house.

We said ‘yes!’
 
When we entered the home, I was struck by how small the kitchen was—such a contrast to the big, warm memories we carried.

My grandma raised fifteen children there, plus foster children, friends were always there, and somehow she managed to feed everyone.

Her kitchen was the heart of the home, always filled with laughter, good smells, and nourishing meals.
 
My mom inherited that same love for cooking. I was so lucky to grow up in a home where everything was made from scratch.

Food wasn’t just food—it was a way of life, a way of loving. That love has been passed down through generations. My siblings and I?  We’re all foodies.
 
While I always loved and appreciated the food my mom and grandma made, I don’t think I truly understood—at least not consciously—that food made with love can nourish the soul as much as the body.

That deeper awareness came later in life.
 
Thirty-one years ago, I volunteered in the kitchen at a Vipassana silent meditation retreat in Washington State. During orientation, we were gently reminded that our energy matters—that if we were feeling overwhelmed or heavy with emotion, we should step away, care for ourselves, and return only when we felt grounded.

We were encouraged to approach food preparation as a meditation: to chop, stir, and measure with full presence, kindness, and love.

The idea was simple yet powerful: food prepared with love nourishes not only the body but also the soul. People can feel it.
 
That experience left a lasting impact on me.
 
Have you ever eaten a meal that tasted like love?

It fills your belly and your heart.

You can taste the care in every bite.
 
I host several weekend retreats each year, and we put a great deal of care into the food—because we know how essential it is to nourish the body, mind, and soul.

My sister Deb prepares all of the meals, and she pours so much love into every dish. It’s something she genuinely enjoys. Without fail, participants rave about the food—and quite often people have commented, almost word for word, “It tastes like love.”
 
Food is essential for survival, yes—but when prepared with loving intention, it becomes something sacred. It connects us to each other, to our ancestors, and to the Earth.
 
As I share this, I’m also mindful of those in our city and around the world who go without nourishing food each day. This is heartbreaking—and a reminder to cherish the abundance we have and share it whenever possible.
 
So this year, when I go to pick blueberries, I intend to do it in honour of my grandma, my mom, and all the women in my lineage who lovingly nourished their families with food from the heart.

I’ll bring the berries home and make a dessert to celebrate them—and the love they passed down through something as simple and sacred as a meal. I'll let you know how it goes! 
 
May we all know food that tastes like love.

And may we all have the opportunity to offer that love in our own way.
 
With love,
Diane