I like flavor - I could never stick to any diet that was steamed

“I like flavor — I could never stick to any diet that was steamed vegetables and low-fat chicken breast.” — thus speaks Marisol Nichols, and though her words may seem of food and appetite, they are in truth a declaration of spirit, of a life that seeks color, texture, and fullness in all things. She reminds us that to live well is not to count calories of the body, but to measure the richness of the soul. For what is life without flavor, without that spark that stirs both tongue and heart?

To love flavor is to love life itself — the mingling of sweet and bitter, the dance of spice and salt, the harmony of opposites that give meaning to our existence. In her words, we hear a rebellion against the pale and predictable, against the lifeless routine that pretends to be virtue. The steamed vegetables and low-fat chicken breast she names are symbols of discipline without joy, of nourishment without pleasure. Yet the wise know that sustenance without delight leaves one starved in deeper ways — for man does not live by bread alone, but by the essence that gives the bread its meaning.

Long ago, the Persian poet Rumi spoke of this same hunger of the soul: “What you seek is seeking you.” When a man denies his true appetite — be it for art, adventure, or love — he becomes a shadow of himself. The flavor Marisol speaks of is not confined to taste; it is the courage to experience life fully. It is found in the laughter that spills without restraint, in the song sung too loudly, in the risks taken without fear of failure. She teaches us that moderation, though wise, should never mean the death of passion.

Think of Julia Child, who brought the richness of French cooking to an austere, cautious America. She refused to believe that pleasure was the enemy of health. “Everything in moderation — including moderation,” she said, and with butter and laughter, she awakened millions to the truth that food is not indulgence, but celebration. So too does Marisol’s statement echo this ancient wisdom: that to live fully, one must not exile joy from the table of life.

But this truth extends beyond the kitchen. It speaks to every choice we make. A life stripped of flavor — of curiosity, adventure, and emotion — is a diet for the spirit that leaves one hollow. The dull diet she resists stands as a metaphor for lives lived in fear of excess, in fear of mess, in fear of feeling too much. Yet the universe itself was not born of restraint, but of explosion — of light and fire and creation. The soul, too, demands such intensity, for passion is the spice of being.

There is, however, a deeper wisdom within her humor. To reject blandness is not to embrace recklessness, but to seek balance — the harmony where nourishment meets joy. The good life, like a well-seasoned dish, is crafted with care: too much spice burns, too little bores. To find that middle path requires attentiveness, creativity, and above all, presence — to taste each moment as it comes, rather than swallowing life whole without savor.

And so, let this be the lesson for all who listen: do not starve your soul for the sake of control. Seek flavor — in your food, your friendships, your dreams, your days. Try something new. Savor what you love. Add a little heat to your habits, a little sweetness to your sorrow. For when life is seasoned with gratitude, courage, and laughter, it becomes a feast worth sharing.

Remember always: blandness may keep you alive, but flavor is what makes you truly live.