COMMENTARY, Jan 1 — The chef deftly flips and slices the steak upon the teppanyaki. The meat sizzles on the flat iron griddle, a spectacle for diners. For us.
Yet I can’t help but wonder: Is this an extravagance? And that well-marbled cut, perhaps too much fat and cholesterol? Is this meal truly necessary – a celebration, an anniversary – or am I simply paying for the performance?
Do not blame me for my thoughts running riot. It is January, after all, and as it so often does, the first month of the brand new year arrives with a stuffy scolding.
After weeks of festive abandon – all those second and third helpings! it would have been rude to refuse! – the new year ushers in GUILT in generous measure.
Suddenly, sugar is suspect. Rice is rationed. Every calorie counts – and indeed, is counted. (Curse whoever invented all those meal planning apps!)
Surely I am not the only one who feels this way?
It is a curious ritual, this collective tightening of the belt. December indulgence – champagne at lunch? shocking! – is framed as excess whilst January discipline is lauded as virtue.
Each year, we repeat this cycle almost automatically, the redemption after the revelry, rarely stopping to ask whether the entire process of self-flagellation serves us at all.
Perhaps 2026 could begin differently.
New Year’s food resolutions tend to be rigid: Eat less of this. Cut out that. Undo the damage.
We are encouraged to forgo our favourite plates of nasi lemak and char kway teow and instead switch to healthier options such as chia seed bowls and protein smoothies.
Why can’t we have both?
For beneath the language of “health” there is a more insidious undercurrent: morality. Foods are good or bad. Eating “correctly” is a sign of determination and discipline; eating “poorly”, a lack of self-control, a lapse in judgement.
The result is that every meal becomes a battleground. Instead of nourishment, we get negotiation. Instead of pleasure, we are prejudged each time we pick up our cutlery.
This is where mindful eating is frequently misunderstood. It is often seen as precious and twee: slow-food, pristine ingredients, silent rooms, every chew and swallow a miniature ceremony.
In reality, mindful eating is far less theatrical. Quite simply, it means actually tasting your food instead of scrolling through your phone.
(If this sounds like me being reproachful, I have to confess I am never without my phone at every meal. See, this is a New Year’s resolution for me more than anything else, truth be told.)
It might mean noticing that your cham panas is already kaw enough. It might mean that you allow yourself to marvel at pastries galore behind the display... and select just the one almond croissant that excites you the most.
Instead of asking, “Is this food allowed?”, we ask instead, “How does this feel?”
This simple question acknowledges that eating is never just about fuel; it is our habits vs our hunger, our moods and our search for some meaning in every meal.
As we step into 2026, let us approach guilt-free eating with awareness and kindness.This doesn’t mean eating less or lighter or more virtuously (whatever that might entail).
It simply means eating with a little more curiosity and a little less chastisement.
I reckon that is a better way to begin a more hopeful and happier year. Not with punishment or promises of reform, but with a gentler resolution: to eat, to observe, and to allow food to be food again.
Take it slow. One sip at a time. Let each bite count.
