In culinary nutrition, there is often an assumption that, if we are teaching people to cook, we should also teach them about nutrition.
On the surface, it seems logical. Nutrition is often the “why” behind the foods we choose and the recipes we make in workshops. But what if making nutrition explicit in culinary workshops isn’t always helpful? What if, in some contexts, nutrition messaging actually undermines the very outcomes we’re trying to achieve?
In this opinion piece, I explore where and how nutrition shows up in culinary nutrition interventions, and whether it should be “visible” to workshop participants.
“Healthy eating” messages can backfire
The concern with the assumption that “nutrition must be taught” is most evident in research with children. Studies have shown that when foods are framed using persuasive nutrition or health-based language such as “healthy,” “unhealthy,” “good,” “bad,” or even “this will make you strong”, preschool-aged children reduce their consumption of these foods and perceive that they are less tasty (Maimaran & Fishbach, 2014).
When we encourage children to eat certain foods, we may actually make those foods less appealing. There are a few reasons why this happens.
Young children tend to think in concrete, binary ways, and abstract concepts such as “protein”, “healthy”, or “nutritious” can be difficult to grasp in developing minds (Başkale et al., 2009). Maimaran & Fishbach (2014) found that when a food is presented as serving an instrumental goal (e.g., improving health, boosting intelligence), young children may infer that it is less enjoyable. The reasoning is that if something is “good for you,” it must be less pleasurable.
In contrast, when food is presented without an agenda, offered to be tasted, explored, and enjoyed, children are more likely to engage with it. This suggests that shifting from an instrumental frame (“eat this because…”) to an experiential one (“try this, what do you notice?”) may be more effective in shaping eating behaviour.
Culinary nutrition workshops are uniquely positioned to do exactly this. They can focus on where food comes from, how it’s prepared, what it smells and tastes like, and how it can be shared with others. In this context, learning happens through doing, not through abstract nutrition concepts.
Why nutrition education may be harmful
A similar argument can be made for individuals with eating disorders. Although nutrition informs evidence-based clinical practice, in these populations, food is often already heavily moralised as “good” or “bad.” People are often preoccupied with calories and rigid food rules. So, introducing explicit nutrition education into a culinary setting may risk reinforcing already harmful thought patterns.
Furthermore, a starved brain, which is common in eating disorders, may struggle to process nutrition information or engage with logical reasoning. When the brain is starved, nutrition education may be ineffective, as facilitators attempt to reason with a mind that is resistant, rigid, or unable to meaningfully absorb the information being presented. Consequently, nutrition messaging may fall flat or even reinforce resolve or resistance. While I have yet to explore the scientific literature on this in depth, for professionals and carers seeking a general introduction to the topic, I recommend the book Food Mad: The Nutritional Neuroscience of a Starved Brain by New Zealand-based dietitian Victoria Schonwald.
From a prevention perspective, some evidence suggests that health-focused education can be a trigger for eating disorders. For example, in a study of 150 patients admitted for medical treatment of anorexia nervosa, Lin et al. (2023) found that 14% attributed health education focused on “healthy eating” to triggering the onset or maintenance of their disorder. This highlights the need to be cautious when delivering nutrition education.
In the context of eating disorder populations, increasing nutrition knowledge may not be an appropriate goal for a culinary workshop. Instead, it may be beneficial to shift away from cognitive reasoning toward embodied experience, such as sensory engagement, experimentation, creativity, and self-expression.
Therefore, in a culinary nutrition workshop, rather than discussing whether oil is “healthy,” a facilitator might discuss how it contributes to texture and flavour. Rather than focusing on the nutrient profile of a meal, conversation might centre on balance in a culinary sense: how acid cuts richness, how seasoning enhances flavour, or how different cooking methods transform ingredients.
This approach redirects attention from judgment to curiosity. It creates space for flexibility, creativity, exploration, and, importantly, enjoyment, which are all ways of relating to food that are often diminished in eating disorders.
Nutrition as an invisible framework for culinary nutrition interventions
If explicit nutrition education is not always helpful, does that mean it should be removed entirely from culinary nutrition interventions? Not quite.
It may be more appropriate to think about nutrition knowledge as the invisible structure underpinning the intervention, rather than the visible content delivered to participants in workshops.
In this way, nutrition informs the behind-the-scenes. It shapes the recipes chosen, the ingredients emphasised, and the program’s overall goals, whether that’s increasing vegetable variety, supporting adequate nutrition, or reducing sodium intake. Facilitators can draw on their nutrition knowledge to design and guide the intervention, even if they are not explicitly teaching it.
This distinction matters. It allows culinary nutrition interventions to remain grounded in evidence-based practice while prioritising experiential learning. It also recognises that knowledge alone does not necessarily translate into behaviour change.
Why nutrition education alone doesn’t change behaviour
Many traditional nutrition interventions focus on increasing knowledge, that is, teaching people what to eat and why. But knowing is not the same as doing.
Culinary nutrition interventions, by contrast, are inherently action-oriented. They involve preparing food, tasting it, and building practical skills.
Therefore, the outcomes are not necessarily a participant’s ability to recite nutrition facts. Instead, the outcomes may be:
- increased willingness to try new foods
- greater confidence in cooking
- more frequent preparation of meals at home
- expanded variety in dietary intake
These shifts may, over time, support meaningful changes in eating behaviours through experience and practice rather than knowledge alone. However, practical skill development does not automatically lead to behaviour change, and further exploration is needed into how culinary nutrition interventions can effectively support lasting change.
Context matters: when nutrition education may still be appropriate
I am not suggesting that nutrition education is never appropriate. In some contexts, such as working with individuals managing conditions like diabetes or hypertension, nutrition information may play a more direct role. However, even here, the way it is delivered matters.
There is a risk that poorly framed nutrition education can reinforce stigma, individual blame, or fear-based relationships with food. Nutrition content needs to be sensitive to social context, access to resources, cultural practices, and other factors that shape eating behaviours.
In my opinion, nutrition doesn’t need to be a fixed, mandatory component of culinary interventions. It can be selectively included, adapted, or minimised depending on the population and the program’s goals.
Culinary nutrition interventions offer something distinct from traditional nutrition education: they are embodied, experiential, and relational. In culinary nutrition practice, the kitchen can be a space for exploration, creativity, sensory engagement, and connection. Thus giving participants the ability to reconnect with food, not just as fuel, but also to experience, share, and enjoy it.
I’d love to hear your views on this topic in the comments below.
Authors disclaimer
I am a researcher in the field of culinary nutrition and eating disorder treatment. I share these reflections as part of my reflexivity practice to help dismantle misconceptions and promote dialogue that supports compassionate, evidence-informed care.
My opinions have changed over time and will continue to change. When I wrote my children’s book, The Superheroes on Your Plate, I was persuaded by a mentor to include persuasive language, such as a line where cheese says, “I am high in protein and a great source of calcium for strong teeth and bones.” Many educators continue to use this book as a nutrition education tool. However, I am now questioning its value and am open to exploring more effective, less harmful ways to promote curiosity and joy with food for people of all ages.
References:
Başkale, H., Bahar, Z., Başer, G., & Ari, M. (2009). Use of Piaget’s theory in preschool nutrition education. Revista de Nutrição, 22(6), 905–917. https://doi.org/10.1590/s1415-52732009000600012
Lin, J. A., Jhe, G., Adhikari, R., Vitagliano, J. A., Rose, K. L., Freizinger, M., & Richmond, T. K. (2023). Triggers for eating disorder onset in youth with anorexia nervosa across the weight spectrum. Eating Disorders, 31(6), 553–572. https://doi.org/10.1080/10640266.2023.2201988
Maimaran, M., & Fishbach, A. (2014). If it’s useful and you know it, do you eat? Preschoolers refrain from instrumental food. Journal of Consumer Research, 41(3), 642–655. https://doi.org/10.1086/677224
