Why the distinction? Because I believe we should name foods, not people. Focusing on the food shifts the focus from identity to impact. And for me, adopting a mostly plant-forward way of eating isn’t about joining a club; it’s about acknowledging a powerful truth.

Eating more vegetarian food is a fundamental win-win-win situation.

And hey, if we're making an international list of the most nutrient dense foods, we gotta learn how to use bitter melon in Italian cuisine or watercress in Mexican cuisine. Sometimes fusion is bad that’s fusion confusion, but sometimes it's amasing! Think of Bahn mi! FUSION INFUSION!

I don’t think I’m a prophet. I don’t think I’m God, and some days, I don’t even think I’m a particularly good person. But I do believe God talks to me… Catholicism is Truth to me, but you don't have to be Catholic to be inspired. Creativity has a divine aspect to it, and Art that appeals to all of us as human beings is the most beautiful because it's the most healthy.

One thing I've learned about being different and about life in general: you don't always get to choose. Humans are like black and white pepper, slightly different but mostly serving the same function, and in a pinch one can act as a substitute for the other. Circumstances are what they are and you can only choose how you view them. What everyone needs is perspective, and a belly laugh. So pick your nose, and pick your friends, but don't ever--and I'm very serious about this--pick your friends noses.

Tiny Homes; Big Hearts. Life is all about perspectives. For me, being differently abled doesn’t mean a closed door to work; it means my contribution is unique. It’s about seeing value differently. Take healthcare, for instance. It's a fundamental social good, yet it’s built on a complex web of work and cost. I see the world through a similar lens, striving for situations where everyone benefits.

In my twenties I studied the history of Western philosophy; it is often told as a triumphant march of Reason. But in the mid-20th century, a famous intellectual skirmish broke out over what—or Who—was left behind on that march. The debate centered on a few pages of René Descartes’ Meditations, but it opened up a chasm between two of France’s greatest thinkers: Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida.

At the heart of the conflict is a haunting question: Is "madness" a biological reality we’ve learned to treat, or is it a category we invented to keep "Reason" pure?

The Cartesian Doubt: Can the Thinker be Mad?

In his First Meditation, Descartes sets out to doubt everything to find a foundation for certainty. He wonders if his senses are deceiving him, acknowledging that people in "insane asylums" believe they are kings when they are poor. However, Descartes quickly brushes this aside. He argues that while he can doubt his senses, he cannot be "mad" because the very act of systematic, rational doubting requires a sane mind.

* Foucault’s Interpretation: In Madness and Civilization, Foucault argues this is a "judicial exile." By excluding the madman from the realm of thought, Descartes establishes Reason by forcefully ousting its opposite. Madness becomes an "error of omission"—a silence at the heart of the Enlightenment.

* Derrida’s Rebuttal: Derrida argued that Foucault misunderstood the text. For Derrida, Descartes didn't exile madness; he surpassed it by imagining an "Evil Genius" that could deceive even a sane mind. Reason doesn't lock madness out; it looks into the abyss and finds the Cogito ("I think") anyway.

Politics is an abstraction; it lives in documents, borders, and debates. In contrast, the act of eating is visceral. It is felt in the gut, on the tongue, and through the blood.

To treat food as an art form is to acknowledge the human aspect of our existence—the fact that we are sentient beings who perceive the world through a physical vessel. This "body-centered" aesthetic is the most honest form of experience because it cannot be faked or legislated. A flavour profile doesn't require a consensus; it requires a nervous system. When you taste something that moves you, it is a private, bodily epiphany that bypasses the "citizen" and speaks directly to the "human.”

Don’t look for reasons not to like people. Don't hold them down to the word, to the letter, let them be. Look for reasons to love them—for what they cook, what they make, what they draw, or what they play. Look for their art.

The Smart Pig Manifesto

It doesn’t matter to me what your race, religion, or colour is. To me, the "Smart Pig" philosophy is simple:

Label stuff not people.

Everyone is biased so blame yourself first. Because the moral compass points inward. Always forgive.

You don't need to disable people to enable yourself; actually the opposite is true.

Nonviolence is the only way.

The only reason to fight is to stop a fight but even then avoid fighting at all costs.

The only reason for war is to save people.

Anyone can have a "pig of a conscience." Anyone can be a Smart Pig. You just have to believe that peace is the priority. Those out there instigating violence for money or power? They deserve the weight of shame in real time.

Take, for example, my current favorite sweater. It is aggressively ugly, complete with enough rhinestones to be seen from space. My sister hilariously dubbed it “The Sweater Trap.” It’s a social paradox: If someone says it’s nice, I want to correct them because it’s clearly hideous, but I don’t want to insult their taste. If they were to say it’s ugly (which, let’s be honest, no one is quite that bold), I’d just agree. My sister says the viewer is damned if they do and damned if they don’t. But I see it differently: the sweater is funny. By wearing it, I’m in on the joke. I’m making fun of myself before anyone else can.

The Mindful Raisin (and the Mindless Dishes)

Heston Blumenthal calls it the "mindful raisin"—the idea of being fully present in every tiny detail of an experience. For me, food is my raison d’être. It’s art, history, and emotion wrapped into one.

When I tell my mum I like doing dishes because it’s mindful—focusing on the warmth of the water and the texture of the soap—she just sighs and says, “Well, I guess it’s kind of mindless.”

Generation gap, right?

We worship the chef because they represent a rare point of authenticity in a synthetic world. There is no "filter" on a hot pan; there is no "undo" button on a broken sauce.

In the kitchen, reality is divine. The chef works with the raw materials of the earth—blood, bone, earth, and vine—and treats them with a reverence that borders on the religious. We are drawn to this because it feels real. A chef doesn't just provide a service; they provide an encounter with the tangible truth of the world.

In a world that often feels fractured by ideology and origin, we struggle to define what it means to be a "Westerner." Too often, we get bogged down in historical grievances or political tribalism. But the answer to unity—and the stability of our economy and morality—might be much simpler and more primal. To truly "love where you live," we must accept that anyone who legally resides here is part of the whole.

For decades, the standard operating procedure for starting a curry has been roughly the same: heat a generous glug of oil or ghee, toss in your whole spices to "bloom" them, and then sauté your aromatics (onions, garlic, ginger) until soft. The oil acts as a vehicle, extracting flavor compounds from the spices and carrying them throughout the dish.

But what if you could achieve that same depth of flavor—and an even richer texture—without the pool of oil?

There is a culinary breakthrough gaining traction among home cooks and health-conscious foodies alike: replacing frying oil with a combination of dry-toasted spices and nut or seed butter. This technique doesn't just reduce refined fat; it creates a luxurious, creamy sauce that naturally thickens your curry.

Here is how to master the "Nut Butter Emulsion" method.

In the hierarchy of human health, nature has provided a clear roadmap. As established in the CDC’s Powerhouse Fruits and Vegetables (PFV) ranking, the "gold standard" for nutrition is found in dense, leafy greens like watercress, Chinese cabbage, and Swiss chard. These foods are packed with life-sustaining vitamins and minerals, scoring a perfect or near-perfect 100 on the nutrient-density scale.

At the opposite end of this spectrum lies "junk food"—ultra-processed items that are high in calories but score effectively zero in nutrient density. In Canada, a growing public health crisis suggests that it is time for our tax code to reflect this biological reality. If we want a healthier nation, we must stop subsidizing poor health through low prices and start taxing junk food to support a "Powerhouse" diet

We often think of Utopia as a destination in the future—a gleaming city on a hill, a society of post-scarcity, or a world without conflict. But if you look closely at our collective yearning for a perfect world, you’ll find it isn't looking forward at all. Instead, it is looking backward through a distorted lens.

Utopia is not a blueprint for what’s next; it is a haunted house built from the bricks of a past that never actually happened.

In the kitchen, the concept of "plagiarism" is a linguistic error. You can steal the words, but you can never steal the fire, the touch, or the shared experience of the meal. Every dish is a uniquely authentic work of art because it is an act of growth that begins in the chef’s hands and ends as a part of the diner’s very body, leaving nothing behind but the memory of an unrepeatable moment.

The clock is ticking. Christmas is mere days, or perhaps hours, away, and that one name on your list remains stubbornly unchecked. Panic can set in, leading many to resort to the easiest, most impersonal default: the last-minute object. But before you brave the chaotic aisles of a big-box store or frantically click "express shipping," consider a truly meaningful alternative: gifting an experience—specifically, an outing to a local, non-chain restaurant.

This simple, yet profound, gift is the perfect antidote to holiday consumerism, offering immediate joy, fostering genuine connection, and delivering substantial benefits to your community and the diversity of the food industry.