There is something undeniably charming about a simple meal. It reminds me of the times my mother used to cook. When I was younger, I did not really appreciate the meals my mum made. I remember telling her I wanted a burger for breakfast. She would wake up early to prepare a homemade burger for me, but I preferred the frozen kind. Instead of serving it with a round bun, she used square bread from Gardenia. It did not look like a burger, and it did not taste like how a burger should. Thinking back, I never understood why she did not buy one and instead took the trouble to make one for me. She put in all that effort and love, yet I refused to eat it. I was eight or nine years old. On regular days, the meals were repetitive, simple, and what I considered boring: the same servings of a fried egg, one or two pieces of meat (usually steamed or with ginger), and vegetables with soy sauce and garlic, sometimes with black pepper. Day after day, I could almost taste it before I even ate it. I guess many of us regret, and will miss saying this, after we learn later in lifeabout refusing or not appreciating the love given to us in other forms, especially the beauty cooked in those meals. I took them for granted, not realising that each plate was a reflection of care, love, and comfort in its simplicity. I must have broken her heart; I should have kissed her and thanked her. But now, looking back, I understand how those meals were quietly special. I regret the times I complained, the times I took those meals for granted. I did not see the effort behind the simplicity: the preparation that required her to wake up earlier, the careful budgeting, the silent act of love in every bowl of soup and every plate of rice. It was not about having a variety of different flavours; it was about nourishment. It was the repetitive effort and simplicity of those meals that made them feel like home, even though I was too silly to recognise it at the time.

Why Simple is Beautiful

Today, as I prepare my own meals, I find myself drawn to the same simple dishes: a big bowl of boiled miso soup with spinach, carrot, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and tomatoes, accompanied by baked chicken with lemon sauce, an egg, and some low-GI brown rice. Less salt, less oil. It does not taste like my mother’s, but I finally understand that food does not have to be exciting or complicated to be beautiful. In fact, the most beautiful meals are often the simplest ones, a realisation that took me quite some time to reach. Sometimes, the most beautiful moments are the ones we do not dress up.

Creativity in Restraint

Some of you could be asking me, what can I make for a simple breakfast, especially for busy days?

Some of you might be asking what simple breakfast you can make, especially on busy days. Well, for me, I usually prepare a simple meal 30 minutes or even the night before. It does not have to be complex, and you do not want to spend time decorating it either. What matters are the simple yet nutritious ingredients. You do not need many ingredients for a simple meal; it is a different kind of creativity, the kind that comes from restraint, like the quiet confidence of someone who does not feel the need to fill every silence, especially in the morning or during an event. I think about this when I boil sweet potatoes; I prefer the purple ones and slice the skin for smoother consumption. I blend one or two dark green, almost ripened avocados with my favourite oat milk. I like the sweet potato cut into smaller pieces for easier eating. Once everything is ready, I dip the sweet potatoes into oat milk and avocado mixture. It feels like a small act of art. It is about letting each element stand on its own, creating a moment where the simple becomes extraordinary. This simple yet nutritious meal can be both practical and beautiful, and can be prepared overnight. You can treat yourself and your family with this small act of care, knowing that even on the busiest mornings, you have already taken a moment to nourish yourselves, inviting a brief pause.

The Joy of Imperfection 

I used to often thought about the food I tasted at other restaurants: perfectly balanced flavours and polished presentation. I always wondered if I could recreate that at home. Would not it be nice to make my favourite dishes the way I like them, without spending much money or waiting for a table? There are no guests to impress, no TikTok or Instagram story to update, just me and my craft. But then, I find myself arranging the meal with care. It is a small and private act of self-respect that reminds me that not everything meaningful needs an audience.

I remember the first time I tried to make pesto from scratch on my own, during one of the lockdown periods. No assistance, no ingredients from canned food. I made everything from scratch, from the sauce until it was ready to eat. Of course, it did not taste like the versions I had in restaurants. I was not sure anyone would like my pesto. Haha. It was less salty, a bit more garlicky, and creamier. But that is part of what makes it mine. I was free to add whatever I wanted, more basil leaves, garlic, and cream. It was mine, it was imperfect but to my liking, a small act of creative freedom I trust myself with every time I cook, I know how I want it to taste. It is a reminder to myself that not everything needs to be perfect to be meaningful. It is about appreciating the imperfections.  For example, I might overestimate the amount of spaghetti or underestimate the amount of Parmesan cheese, all these flaws become part of the story, yet I still find joy in making it, and even though it is far from perfect. I still finish it, and that homemade quality made it uniquely personal. Sometimes, we often forget that imperfections are what connect us, what make a meal feel alive. Just like in real life, the moments may not be polished, it is those imperfections that create more genuine connections with character, soul, and depth.

We should stop comparing what we create or what we do, the taste, the results, or trying to mimic someone else’s style. Each meal tells the signature of its maker or cooker. ( not a chef, haha) If we constantly compare ourselves with others, we will probably be disappointed and might even be discouraged from trying in the first place. My pesto does not have to taste like a chef’s, and that is okay, I tell myself. The most important thing is the joy of making, trying, and knowing that they belong to me, appreciating the process for its own uniqueness and learning to embrace the perfectly imperfect in every bite. Every bite that comes from simple ingredients, eggs, basil, Parmesan cheese, lemon, cream, spaghetti, was not just something that could be made into a meal, it felt like a moment of quiet gratitude that allowed me the opportunity to prepare something with my own effort, my own imagination, my own hands, and that this small act is a blessing and worth celebrating.

Savour and Walk in Simple Moments

We slow down when we treat simple meals as something worth noticing. We become more aware, it is savouring, a small ritual of gratitude in simple moments. It feels like walking, you notice things you usually overlook. Even if you are in a rush, take a moment to appreciate it without any distractions. If you have a physical goal, like staying fit or building strength, you might compare your progress with someone else, or you might not see any progress you desired, just the act of doing and being present is enough and worth celebrating. Because just like a thoughtfully prepared meal, a walk can be a small act of gratitude to reconnect with the world and ourselves. There are some moments cannot be recreated or revisit, that is why it is important to treasure them, if you read this far, you will understand.