Simple Man – Lynyrd Skynyrd
This song is one of those classics, and I think many people will agree with me on that. It’s the kind of song that can reach you somewhere deep, somewhere you don’t always visit. Food can do exactly the same thing. And that is what I want to talk about today. Your mother’s food. And why mom’s cooking tastes better.
That One Dish That Just Hits Different
Most of us have that one dish, or maybe a few, that instantly takes us back. Back to a time where life felt lighter, where you didn’t have to think too much about anything, where you could just sit down and eat without a single worry in your head. And somehow, that food always tasted… better.
It’s almost ironic in a funny way. Every time you try to recreate that same dish yourself later in life, it never quite hits the same note.
Think about that comforting chicken soup she made when you were sick. Even if it came straight from a can, it somehow still worked like magic. Or that apple pie in the fall, filling the house not just with warmth, but with the smell of cinnamon, baked apples, and those spices that made the whole place feel like home before you even took the first bite. Or something as simple as pasta, like my old neighbour’s kid who would scream with excitement when his mom packed him fresh pesto pasta for lunch. That kind of joy… that sticks.
Meatballs, Gravy… and a Guaranteed Good Day
For me, one of those dishes was meatballs. I’ve mentioned my connection to apple pie before, but these meatballs… they deserve their own moment.
They were always just a bit bigger than a golf ball, which in my opinion is the perfect size. Big enough to feel generous, small enough to convince yourself you could take one more without it being “too much.” They were perfectly browned on the outside, with that deep, rich color that already tells you something good is about to happen. When you pressed your fork into them, they gave way softly, tender and juicy, holding just enough structure to stay together.
And then there was the gravy. Thick, smooth, coating every meatball like it belonged there. The kind of gravy that slowly finds its way across your plate, touching the potatoes, mixing with the vegetables, quietly turning everything into one comforting whole.
But what I remember most is the smell. That moment when it would hit your nose from the kitchen, slowly spreading through the house, wrapping itself around everything, almost like a quiet announcement: this is going to be a good evening. And it always was. It’s strange how certain smells can instantly take you back to a moment, a place, or even a person you haven’t thought about in years.
Same Recipe… Different Story
Of course, I tried to recreate it. Many times. Same ingredients. Same techniques. I paid attention, learned how she rolled them, how she seasoned them, all those little things you think make the difference. But they never came out the same.
Now, I know how to make meatballs. I’ve made thousands over the years. I’ve developed my own versions, added more spices, a bit more kick, because that’s who I am as a cook now. And people love them.
But they’re not those meatballs. And that’s where the real question comes in. Why is it that you can follow everything exactly, and still not recreate that same feeling, that same taste, that same moment?
Why Mom’s Cooking Tastes Better
Part of the answer lies in something we rarely think about while eating. Smell.
When you smell something, it travels directly to two parts of your brain: the amygdala, which handles emotions, and the hippocampus, where memories are stored. Sounds technical, but in simple terms, it means this:
Smell doesn’t just register. It connects. That’s why a single scent can take you back instantly. Not just to a dish, but to a whole moment. The kitchen, the light, the people, the feeling of being there.
As a child, food is never just food. It comes with being cared for, being safe, being held, hearing familiar voices, feeling warmth without even realizing it. Your brain quietly links all of that together. So later in life, when that same smell appears again, it doesn’t just remind you of the food.
It brings everything back with it.
Built Bite by Bite, Memory by Memory
You didn’t eat that dish once. You ate it again and again, over years. Birthdays, weekends, sick days, random evenings that meant nothing at the time but everything now in hindsight. Your brain builds a connection without asking you, this taste equals home.
The more it repeats, the stronger that connection becomes. That’s why certain dishes feel heavier with memory than others. Chicken soup when you were sick. A simple breakfast on a weekend morning when you didn’t have to go to school. Those weren’t just meals. They were small rituals, moments where everything felt okay.
You Can Copy the Recipe, Not the Hands
Even if you understand all of that, there is still something else. Something you can’t measure.
You can copy ingredients. You can follow technique. But you can’t copy the environment in which it was made. The smell of that kitchen. The old pans used for years. The rhythm of someone who has made that dish hundreds of times without thinking. The way the stove was used, the timing, the small adjustments made without even realizing it.
And most importantly, you can’t copy the hands that made it. Your mother or grandmother didn’t cook from a strict recipe. It was instinct. A pinch here, a bit more there, tasting, adjusting, feeling. Their hands were part of the recipe itself. And that is something you simply can’t write down. That is exactly why mom’s cooking tastes better. And the truth is, it’s often the smallest details that make the biggest difference in how something turns out.
It Was Never Just About the Food
Then there is the emotional side, and maybe this is the most important one.
When you were younger, you weren’t just eating. You were being taken care of. You didn’t carry the weight of responsibilities yet. No stress about tomorrow, no pressure from life pulling at you. You were just there, in that moment, enjoying what was in front of you. And that changes how food tastes.
Food eaten in comfort, in safety, in love, tastes different than food eaten when your mind is somewhere else. Your mood, your emotions, your state of mind… they all influence how you experience flavor.
So, when you try to recreate that dish today, you’re not just trying to cook the same thing. You’re trying to recreate a version of yourself that existed back then. And that’s something no recipe can give you. Now you understand why mom’s cooking tastes better.
Different Kitchens, Same Feeling
If you zoom out for a second, you’ll see this isn’t just about meatballs. Every culture has its version of this.
A soup. A stew. A rice dish. Something simple, something humble, but deeply rooted. Food that was never meant to impress but somehow left the biggest mark. Different flavors, different ingredients. Same feeling.
Maybe That’s the Point
So maybe the goal isn’t to recreate it perfectly. Maybe the goal is to understand why it mattered so much. To appreciate those moments for what they were. And maybe even to become aware of the moments you are creating now.
Because somewhere, someone might be building that same kind of memory with you. A child, a friend, a partner. And years from now, they might taste something and think, this reminds me of you.
Your Turn (Be Honest )
What is that dish for you? The one that takes you back instantly, without asking permission. The one you tried to recreate and secretly knew it wasn’t quite the same. Or maybe you got close. If you did… I respect that. That’s a rare achievement.
Still Standing, Still Remembering
Some things in life aren’t meant to be copied. Only remembered. And maybe that’s exactly what makes them so special. Because for a brief moment, when that smell finds you again, everything becomes quiet… and simple… just like it used to be.
Yohan