In recent years, I've been writing because I'm fortunate enough

Hear the grateful words of Ted Allen, who declared: “In recent years, I’ve been writing because I’m fortunate enough to work in the world of food television, to travel and taste and learn about cooking from the best chefs in the business.” At first, these words seem like a simple reflection on work, but when read with the eyes of wisdom, they reveal the profound blessings of learning, of sharing, and of living in gratitude. For Allen does not speak as one who takes his path for granted—he speaks as one who recognizes that to travel, to taste, to learn, and to write are sacred privileges, gifts that weave together into a life both full and purposeful.

Mark this truth, O listener: food is never merely food. It is memory, culture, history, and love, condensed into flavor and shared across tables. To learn about cooking from the best chefs is not simply to acquire recipes, but to inherit stories, traditions, and the spirit of craft passed down through generations. When Allen writes, he does not merely list ingredients—he preserves the knowledge of masters, recording for others the lessons that nourish not only the body but the soul. Thus his labor is more than writing; it is a form of guardianship, a way of ensuring that the wisdom of the kitchen is never lost.

Consider the example of Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, who wrote The Physiology of Taste in the early 19th century. He, too, saw in food more than sustenance. Through tasting and learning, he revealed the intimate connection between culture and cuisine, between appetite and art. His work transformed the way Europe thought about food, elevating it to philosophy. So too does Ted Allen follow this ancient lineage: not only eating, not only observing, but writing, so that others may learn and savor what he has discovered on his journeys.

And think also of Marco Polo, whose journeys into Asia brought back more than tales of faraway lands. He returned with flavors, spices, and ways of cooking unknown to Europe. His travels, like Allen’s, were not for conquest but for discovery. Through him, East and West exchanged flavors that reshaped the tables of kings and peasants alike. Allen’s modern journeys through food television echo this same truth: that to taste and to learn is to become a bridge between cultures, a messenger carrying delight and knowledge across the world.

Yet Allen’s words also teach us of gratitude. He does not boast of his access to chefs or his chance to travel. Instead, he calls himself “fortunate.” In this humility lies the deeper power of his message. For many may taste, many may travel, many may learn—but not all give thanks. Gratitude turns experience into wisdom, turning privilege into blessing. Without it, even the richest opportunities leave the soul barren. With it, even simple meals become feasts of meaning.

The lesson for us is clear: whatever your work, whatever your opportunities, approach them as Allen does—with humility, passion, and gratitude. If you travel, let it be to learn, not to consume. If you taste, let it be to appreciate, not to boast. If you learn from masters, let it be to preserve and to share, not merely to enrich yourself. And if you write, let it be with reverence, knowing that words can carry wisdom across time and space, nourishing generations yet unborn.

Therefore, let us follow the path Allen illuminates. Live as one who is both student and messenger. Seek out the wisdom of those who know more than you. Receive it with joy, and then pass it on with humility. For in doing so, you will find, as he has found, that to travel, taste, learn, and write is not only to build a career—it is to build a life of meaning. And in such a life, you too will be able to say, with fullness of heart: “I feel fortunate, I feel blessed.”