Cooking Therapy: Food, Mental Health & Connection Explored

Title: Cooking Therapy: A Fiery Exploration of Food, Mental Health, and Connection at Bush Theatre

Food has long been romanticized as a cure-all in our lives—an emotional balm for loneliness, a bridge to connection, and even a salve for mental health. But Sophia Griffin’s compelling debut play, now showing at the Bush Theatre, challenges this comforting notion with striking clarity. Set within the confines of a Caribbean cookery class designed as therapy for men in a secure psychiatric unit in Birmingham, it’s a story that unpacks the intricate relationship between food, healing, and mental health. For audiences in Malta, where the Mediterranean diet and communal eating are celebrated not just for their flavor but for their health benefits, this play resonates deeply, shedding light on how food can both heal and divide.

The institutional kitchen, designed by Claire Winfield, is starkly realistic, its cupboards plastered with condescending labels that reflect the rigid order imposed on the men. Yet therapist Naomi (played with subtle vulnerability by Aimée Powell) believes this cookery class could be transformative. Hoping to inspire connection and pride, she decorates the space with African and Caribbean flags, inviting the Black men on the ward to come together and cook dishes that evoke their heritage. Food, in this case, becomes a medium for cultural identity and expression—a concept that resonates in Malta, where traditional recipes like lampuki pie and kusksu help preserve Maltese culture in every bite.

But Griffin is quick to remind us that food alone isn’t a panacea. The men must first be cleared to use knives, a process that underscores the delicate balance between trust and caution in therapeutic environments. Then, escorted through high-security corridors to the kitchen, they must navigate the tensions of sharing space with one another. David Webber steals the show as Leroy, the oldest and most charismatic member of the group, whose sharp wit slices through Naomi’s well-meaning optimism with observations like, “Mi not got time fi dis.” Yet beneath Leroy’s charm lies a simmering conflict with Ty (Corey Weekes), a younger man whose bravado masks deep insecurity. Their dynamic mirrors the volatile relationships that can emerge in such settings, where vulnerability is often perceived as weakness.

As the men chop onions and stir pots, the audience is reminded of how cooking is both an act of care and a process that involves inherent violence—cutting, chopping, boiling. The kitchen, much like the psychiatric unit, holds contradictions: it nurtures and heals, but also imposes control and transformation. In Malta, where food is often seen as a celebration of life and community, this juxtaposition offers a thought-provoking lens on how even the most healing environments can harbor tension and struggle.

While the play avoids delving deeply into the characters’ backstories, Griffin’s restrained storytelling speaks volumes. Designer Corey Campbell includes subtle nods to their pasts through stacks of medical notes labeled with terms like “bipolar disorder,” while movement sequences evoke their inner turmoil. Yet the real focus is on how their mental health is weaponized against them, a theme that echoes the challenges faced by many individuals striving to overcome stigma and navigate systems meant to help them. In Malta, where mental health awareness is gaining momentum, this portrayal highlights the importance of understanding the delicate interplay between vulnerability, recovery, and societal expectations.

Food, at its core, is about coming together—sharing meals, stories, and moments of connection. In Griffin’s play, this idea is both celebrated and complicated. The men’s violent pasts and fragile mental states make vulnerability risky; opening up can harm their chances of release, while closing off is seen as resistance. Naomi herself is far from immune to this pressure; her personal struggles creep into view through phone conversations that initially seem mundane but ultimately reveal cracks in her own mental health. It’s a poignant reminder that no one’s mental health is unshakable—a truth that resonates universally, from Birmingham to Malta.

For audiences who see food as a pathway to health and happiness, this play offers a sobering but insightful take. Cooking can indeed bring people together, foster creativity, and evoke comfort—but it’s rarely a cure-all. In Malta, where the Mediterranean diet is celebrated for its physical and mental health benefits, Griffin’s work serves as a compelling exploration of how food intersects with mental health and human connection. “Cooking therapy” might sound idyllic, but as this fiery and intense production reveals, it’s also a pressure cooker of emotions, vulnerability, and healing.

Bush Theatre’s production runs until December 20th. For food enthusiasts and mental health advocates in Malta, this is a must-watch for anyone interested in the deeper connections between what’s on our plate and what’s in our hearts.