I love Michel Roux, Jr., and James Martin - the chefs who are

In the quiet moments of life, we find a balance between the things that nourish the body and those that nourish the soul. Mary Berry, in her reflection, expresses a deep and poignant truth: “I love Michel Roux, Jr., and James Martin—the chefs who are experts in their own right, like Rick Stein on fish. But I don’t watch them very much because I don’t think it’s fair for my husband to be in a total food environment all the time! So we watch programmes about gardening more.” These words contain a subtle, yet profound insight into the way we navigate the world—the way we seek balance, not just in what we consume, but in the way we live and share our lives with others.

The ancient world was keenly aware of the importance of balance in all things. The Greek philosophers, in their wisdom, spoke often of the need for harmony between body and spirit. In the great works of Aristotle, we learn that true happiness lies not in indulgence or asceticism but in the middle path—a life where the pleasures of the body are enjoyed without excess, and the needs of the soul are given their due. Mary Berry’s words echo this wisdom: that while we may be drawn to the things we love—be it food, art, or any other passion—we must also consider the needs of those with whom we share our lives. To immerse oneself in food, as Berry does with the great chefs of the culinary world, is a gift, but it must be tempered with an awareness of the environment we create in our home. To overindulge in one realm—be it food or work—can disrupt the harmony of the life we seek to cultivate.

The act of gardening itself, which Berry chooses to indulge in as a shared interest with her husband, is an ancient practice deeply rooted in the concept of nourishment—but not just of the body. In gardening, we find a kind of sacred ritual that feeds the spirit. The Egyptians, for example, viewed the garden as a place of divine peace. The garden was not only a space for growing food but also a space for reflection, meditation, and healing. The act of tending to plants, of nurturing life from the earth, brings a profound sense of fulfillment and connection to the cycles of the universe. By watching gardening programmes, Berry and her husband are engaging in a shared experience that moves beyond the nourishment of the body to the nourishment of the spirit—something that food, while vital, does not always provide in the same way.

Consider the ancient gardens of Babylon, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. These gardens were not simply places where plants were grown for sustenance, but sacred spaces where the gods were honored through the act of cultivation. The gardens themselves were an expression of the unity between the human and the divine, an offering of beauty to the heavens. Just as Michelangelo shaped marble with his hands, so too did the gardeners of ancient Babylon shape the earth, carving out beauty and peace from the land. The gardens, like the food on our tables, were a way of connecting to something higher—an offering to life itself. The beauty of gardening lies not just in the growth of plants but in the transformation it encourages in us—the gardener, the observer, the lover of life.

Mary Berry’s insight—her choice to watch gardening programmes in a shared moment of respite—reminds us of the need for balance between our passions and our relationships. It is not the passion for food or for any art that is the problem, but the consumption of it, the inability to step away from it when it overtakes our lives. Just as the garden requires attention and care, but also time to rest and grow on its own, so too do our relationships require both nurturing and space. The ancient wisdom of Yin and Yang, the Chinese philosophy that speaks to the duality of existence, reminds us that all things must be held in balance—light and dark, food and spirit, work and rest. It is this balance that leads to a life that is whole, fulfilled, and connected to all that is around us.

In Buddhism, there is a teaching called the Middle Way—the path that avoids the extremes of indulgence and deprivation. This path calls for a life of moderation, where we engage fully with the world, but without attachment or excess. Mary Berry’s choice to temper her love for food with her shared interest in gardening reflects this wisdom. She understands that one passion does not need to overshadow the other; instead, both can exist in harmony, complementing each other in the sacred dance of daily life. Gardening, in its simple yet profound way, offers a counterbalance to the excesses of the culinary world, allowing for a gentler, more reflective form of nourishment.

Therefore, let us take from Mary Berry’s insight a valuable lesson in balance. Whether in food, in relationships, or in the passions we pursue, we must learn to measure our desires against the needs of the world around us. There is no shame in indulging in the things we love, but true wisdom lies in knowing when to step back, when to engage in something else—like gardening or simply resting—in order to restore our sense of harmony. Just as the great sages of the past found peace in the rhythms of nature, we, too, can cultivate balance by nourishing both our bodies and spirits in equal measure, ensuring that no one passion ever overwhelms the others.