The lesson of the elders
When I speak with the elders of my village, I systematically find evidence that clings to the fundamental principles of low-carb: preservation through salt or smoke, the deliberate choice of fatty and protein products to get through the winter, the massive use of resistant vegetables such as cabbage or roots. It was never a theoretical statement or a nutritional ideology; it was pure practical pragmatism. We observed what was in the body, what allowed us to work hard without weakening, and we reproduced it faithfully, season after season.
The sound of the wind in the fir trees. The warmth of the kitchen where we pass on gestures.
The idea of reducing sugars and cereals was not formulated in scholarly words, but it was inscribed in the reality of stocks. The available resources, the harshness of the climate and the absolute necessity to last have shaped habits which, today, come close to what the most advanced science would recommend for stable energy. This link between history and health is incredibly rich: it shows us that modernity can rediscover ancient gestures without betraying them, by finally understanding the biological logic that underpinned them.
I do not write to contrast the past with the present in a nostalgic way, but to remind that many of our current solutions already exist in our silent heritage. For those seeking a sustainable and sensible food path, looking back is not a step backwards: it is a return to practical and sensory tools that have proven themselves over generations. It's relying on something solid to build your own balance.
I remember my grandfather saying that bread was for holidays, but bacon was for every day. He understood everything.
Wisdom as a compass
What interests me in the recognition of ancient culinary common sense is that it frees people from the tyranny of fashion: we stop believing that we have to invent complex diets or suffer to eat well. We look around us, we observe the cycles of nature, and we see that our ancestors had already found answers of rare intelligence. This observation is not an escape, it is a resource. It gives us permission to eat dense, flavorful, nourishing foods without guilt.
The conservation actions – fermentation, drying, salting – were not aimed at inventing a 'diet'. They aimed to preserve life and ensure the prosperity of the community. And oddly enough, the foods that store best this way are exactly those that promote stable energy and optimal metabolic health: animal fats, quality proteins, fermented vegetables. Common sense is not a coincidence; it is an adaptive response from the field to the real needs of the human body.
Today, faced with the diseases of civilization and the metabolic questions that haunt our industrial societies, rediscovering these gestures and these understandings is becoming a practical emergency. It’s not going back to the past; it’s borrowing your wisdom to build a healthier and more conscious present. It's wonderful to realize that our grandmothers, without knowing biochemistry, had composed meals that perfectly met the needs of our body. They cooked with love and with an intimate knowledge of life.
The steam escaping from the pot. A smell of roots and braised meat. It is the smell of truth.
I recommend that anyone looking for an anchor start by observing what their ancestors actually ate, how they prepared it, and most importantly why they made these choices. The answers found there are not folkloric curiosities: they are tools tested by time and experience. Common sense has no age; it is transmitted, reinvented and lived in each generation. It is our most precious heritage, the one that allows us to stand tall, proud and healthy.
In my kitchen, I try to keep that flame burning. Each dish is a tribute to this line of anonymous cooks who knew how to feed the world with what they had on hand, with intelligence and respect. To eat like this is to feel connected to a force that goes beyond us, it is to honor life with each bite. It’s, quite simply, finding your way home.
I put away my family's old recipe book. The pages are yellowed, but the advice is more current than ever. I know what to make for dinner.
Common sense is the best seasoning. No sugar, no artifice.
