Cooking with love!

I arrived at Johns Hopkins University—home to the world’s top neuroscience program—wide-eyed and eager to unravel the mysteries of the brain. Between lectures on synaptic plasticity and labs studying neurodegenerative diseases, I was immersed in a world where mitochondria and neurotransmitters were daily vocabulary. Yet outside the classroom, the irony was impossible to ignore: while we dissected the science of cellular energy, our campus dining options were a nutritional disaster.

The student favorite, Lao Sze Chuan, served sugar-laden Dongpo pork in under five minutes—perfect for cramming between labs, but a slow-motion crisis for metabolic health. My premed peers ran on vending machine ramen and Frappuccinos, their “study fuel” as processed as the fMRI data we analyzed. In a place where Nobel laureates lectured on cellular respiration, I watched classmates slump into hypoglycemic crashes mid-exam. The disconnect was staggering: How could future doctors—and the institution training them—overlook the very fuel that powers the brain?

The turning point came during an intersession course with Dr. Angela Taylor, a clinician dual-certified in Clinical Nutrition and Functional Medicine. Her class, Clinical Nutrition AS.020.120.12, wasn’t just about memorizing RDAs—it was a revelation. We logged meals on Cronometer, analyzed gut microbiomes from stool samples, and cooked in a teaching kitchen. For the first time, I saw nutrition not as a footnote in medicine, but as its cornerstone.

But the real lesson struck while shadowing Dr. Jee Bang, a neurologist treating Huntington’s disease. I met patients whose cognitive decline was accelerated by diets of fast food and soda—like the former engineer who could no longer swallow solids but had spent years living on drive-thru meals. Here, in the shadow of Hopkins’ groundbreaking neuroscience labs, was undeniable proof: No matter how advanced our understanding of the brain, it means nothing if we ignore the plate in front of us.