“I ate this because it was there.” It’s a phrase I’ve uttered more than once while standing in front of an open refrigerator or picking at leftovers that have no real place in the day’s meal plan. And if I’m being honest, I’ve often said it with a sense of guilt, as if the food in question needed justification beyond its mere existence. But as time has passed, I’ve come to realize that sometimes the best reason to eat something is exactly that—because it’s there. Because the opportunity presents itself, and because food, in its simplest form, can fill more than just an empty stomach. It can fill space, time, and even emotions.
We’ve all been there, right? Maybe it’s a mid-afternoon snack when the day is dragging, or a late-night bite when you’re just too tired to care. The food might not be what you *really* want, but it’s there, so you eat it. That leftover samosa sitting in the corner of the kitchen, the half-eaten box of Maggi noodles in the cupboard, or the random slice of bread you smear with butter just because. Sometimes it’s not about cravings—it’s about habits, distractions, or filling a void that you didn’t even realize was there. And in those moments, food becomes more than just fuel; it becomes a form of comfort, a distraction, and sometimes, unexpectedly, poetry.
The Comfort of Familiarity
There’s something deeply comforting about eating something because it’s there, especially when it’s something familiar. Growing up in Mumbai, the food that made up the background of my daily life was often simple—dal, rice, roti, sabzi. These weren’t fancy meals. They were the staples, the things that always filled the table, no matter how chaotic the rest of the day was. And when I moved to Austin, these familiar dishes became my anchor. Sometimes I wasn’t hungry for a full meal; I wasn’t craving anything in particular. But the thought of making a bowl of khichdi or grabbing a piece of leftover roti filled me with a quiet kind of relief. It wasn’t about the food itself, but about the sense of home it brought with it.
It’s funny how something as simple as eating leftovers can give us a sense of connection to our roots. The roti that’s a little bit dry, the sabzi that’s been sitting in the fridge for hours—these aren’t perfect meals. But they carry with them a nostalgia, a sense of routine that makes them comforting. So, when I find myself reaching for that leftover piece of roti or dipping a spoon into the dal that’s been in the fridge for a day, I realize that I’m not just eating because it’s there. I’m eating because it’s familiar, and sometimes, that’s all you need. Familiarity, in its own understated way, is a form of emotional nourishment.
Food as Filler: The Distraction We Need
But let’s be real—sometimes, food isn’t about comfort or nostalgia. It’s about distraction. How many times have you caught yourself mindlessly munching on something, not because you’re hungry but because your mind is elsewhere? Maybe you’re sitting at your desk, staring at your computer screen, and the next thing you know, you’re holding a packet of chips and wondering how they disappeared so quickly. Or maybe it’s the 3 p.m. craving for something sweet—something that doesn’t fill you up, but rather just fills the gap between tasks. That’s food as filler, a quick fix for the moments when you need a break but don’t know how to take one.
In my case, the food-as-distraction moments often happen when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed. A piece of Dairy Milk chocolate at 3 p.m. (a daily habit, if I’m being honest) doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t fix the to-do list, it doesn’t improve my mood in any lasting way, but in the moment, it gives me the break I crave. In that sweet moment, I’m no longer worried about the deadlines, the errands, or the demands of the day. I’m just there, in that tiny moment of indulgence, letting food be my distraction. It’s not the healthiest habit, but there’s something undeniably human about turning to food as a little escape. It doesn’t solve problems, but it sure helps for a few minutes.
Food as Poetry: Finding Meaning in the Mundane
But then there are the moments when food isn’t just a distraction or a filler—it becomes poetry. I know, it sounds dramatic, but bear with me. There’s something profoundly satisfying about the act of preparing a simple meal from scratch, especially when it’s a meal that doesn’t require any grand planning. The quiet rhythm of chopping vegetables, the sizzle of spices hitting hot oil, and the way the smell of a curry fills the room—these are small, meditative moments that transform food into more than just fuel. It’s a moment of creation, of bringing something into existence out of raw ingredients, and in that moment, food feels like art.
When I’m in the kitchen, making a pot of dal or cooking a simple sabzi, I feel connected to the generations of cooks before me. The small act of adding a pinch of hing to the hot oil, the careful sprinkling of garam masala at the end—these are gestures that have been repeated in kitchens for centuries. And when I sit down to eat, the meal becomes more than just nourishment; it’s a reflection of my own connection to tradition, to home, and to my own creative expression. Food, in these moments, becomes poetry—not in the literal sense, but in the way it allows us to connect with the past, with the present, and with ourselves.
Embracing the Food That’s There
At the end of the day, eating because it’s there isn’t something to be ashamed of. Sometimes, food is a habit, a distraction, or a form of comfort—and all of those are valid reasons. There’s no need to feel guilty for grabbing that piece of chocolate, reaching for the leftover dal, or eating just because your stomach feels empty. Food, after all, is more than just something we eat. It’s a way to nurture ourselves, a way to express emotions, and a way to stay connected to both our past and our present.
So, the next time you find yourself eating something “just because it’s there,” don’t apologize. Embrace it. Whether it’s a comforting meal from your childhood or a quick snack to distract you from the grind of the day, food is always there for you. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
