What is a foodie, really?
On the surface, it seems like a harmless label — someone who “loves food” or “makes eating part of their personality.” Kind of like saying you’re into “deep breathing” or “high-intensity sleeping.” Banal. Harmless. Slightly cringe.
But scratch beneath the surface and you find something more insidious: the cult of the most. The foodie is that friend who can’t stop raving about the best cheesesteak, the most authentic Korean BBQ, or the new pop-up with six courses and zero chairs. Suddenly, your peanut butter and jelly sandwich feels like compost. Your Tupperware lunch? Embarrassing. You don’t spend $400 a day on takeout, iced coffee, delivery apps, and high-end dinners? What are you, poor?
The Fantasy of Foodie Culture
In their quest for authenticity, ironically, foodies get trapped in illusion. They follow influencers whose job is to eat food dramatically on camera. Their goal isn’t truth — it’s clicks. Their reactions are exaggerated, their praise incentivized. And so, we trust strangers with different tastes and motivations, chasing their experiences as if they’re our own.
We scroll through food photos on Instagram like we’re reading sacred texts. But is the image the meal? Or are we, like Plato’s cave dwellers, starving on the shadows of real food?
The kicker: 60–70% of restaurant food comes from the same handful of corporate suppliers like Sysco, US Foods, or Gordon Food Service. In fact, 90–95% of restaurants use these companies in some capacity.(Hamburger, John. “Sysco and US Foods: The Aftermath”. Foodservice News. Retrieved 27 August 2015.) So even as foodies hunt for “authentic” or “unique” meals, many of the ingredients come from the same sources, processed in the same way. The experience may be wrapped in novelty, but the supply chain is anything but. Weep for the foodies.
What Real Food Looks Like
I once had a friend named Mike, the head cook at a soup kitchen where I volunteered. Over the years, he fed tens of thousands of hungry, homeless folks. People raved about his food. Still, volunteers often worried over how finely to chop the lettuce for the salad or whether oregano or parsley was the right choice for the soup.
Mike had one response, every time:
“It’ll make a turd.”
Crass? Sure. But also wise. Because Mike understood something essential: food is nourishment. It should be made with care, but not fear. It should be shared, not idolized. Taste and presentation matter, but they are not the only things that matter.
Reclaim the Kitchen Table
Here’s the truth: You don’t need to go into debt ordering Michelin star foie gras foam or book a pilgrimage to a Bangkok street cart to eat authentically. You don’t even need a food blog 😁
You just need access to real, quality ingredients — and the confidence to use them.
That’s what Wholesome Farms is all about. We help people return to real cooking with ingredients that have roots. From pasture-raised Creekstone beef to air-chilled Murray’s chicken and rich, heritage-breed Cheshire pork, we source food that nourishes without the pressure to impress.
Final Thought
Let’s stop chasing the fantasy of the perfect bite. Let’s see through the hype, the shilling, the illusion. Let’s sit down at our own tables, cook honest meals, and remember what food is really for.
And the next time someone says they’re a foodie, feel free to smile and say:
“It’ll all make a turd.”
Emma