We’ve misplaced thinking.
We treat it like background noise now.
Something we do while scrolling.
Something we do half-awake in bed.
Something we skim between emails at the office.
But real thinking — the kind that steadies a household — doesn’t belong on a phone screen in passing.
Food for the brain belongs in the kitchen.
At the table.
The kitchen is where nourishment is intentional.
You don’t toss a steak across the room and call it dinner.
You sit down.
You cut it.
You chew it.
You taste it.
Why do we treat ideas differently?
We digest food slowly.
We swallow opinions instantly.
That inversion is part of the disorder.
The office is for production.
The bedroom is for rest.
The phone is for distraction.
The kitchen is for formation.
It’s where kids learn tone.
It’s where adults rehearse responsibility.
It’s where numbers are looked at carefully.
It’s where arguments are either inflamed or resolved.
When you move “food for the brain” to the kitchen, something changes.
You slow down.
You ask,
“What does this actually mean?”
“What does this cost?”
“What happens if we’re wrong?”
That’s not political.
That’s structural.
Thinking at the table forces posture.
You’re sitting upright.
You’re facing each other.
You’re not hiding behind a screen.
Ideas behave differently when spoken out loud in a kitchen.
They either hold up — or they collapse.
A headline that felt powerful on your phone sounds flimsy when read across a table.
An emotional reaction cools when someone says,
“Explain that again.”
A rushed decision pauses when a second set of eyes looks at it.
That’s the function of the kitchen.
It’s not a stage.
It’s a filter.
If the Baseline lives anywhere, it lives there.
Not in abstraction.
In practice.
Before you sign the refinance.
Before you respond to the political post.
Before you accept the “limited time” offer.
Before you escalate the disagreement.
You bring it to the table.
You feed it properly.
You cut it apart.
You ask:
Is this fact?
Is this inference?
Is this pressure?
Is this wise?
Food for the body strengthens muscle.
Food for the brain strengthens judgment.
But only if you chew it.
Only if you digest it deliberately.
We’ve gotten used to intellectual snacking.
Quick takes.
Hot reactions.
Shared outrage.
That’s junk food.
The kitchen is for meals.
Meals take time.
They require preparation.
They involve other people.
They leave you steady — not jittery.
If you want to see a country regain its center, don’t watch the broadcast studios.
Watch the kitchens.
Watch whether families are thinking together.
Watch whether decisions are discussed before acted upon.
Watch whether kids hear calm reasoning instead of constant reaction.
That’s where normal returns.
Not through domination of every room.
Through discipline in one room.
Food for the brain belongs in the kitchen.
At the table.
Where it can be handled with care.
Where it can be questioned.
Where it can be shared.
That’s how ideas grow strong.
That’s how households stay anchored.
And anchored households are the quiet force that steadies everything else.
micvicfaust@intelligent-people.org
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