The Hidden Mental Health Impact Of Cultural Food Insecurity

Fresh guavas and papayas. Tortillas paired with beans, cheese and chorizo. Those foods made up Carlos Colindres’ snacks and breakfasts as a kid growing up in Honduras. But when he moved to Maryland at 13 years old, he found himself stuck eating bowls of milk and cereal and mangoes imported from Florida during school-provided breakfasts.

“I found that very, in a way, frustrating. Like, ‘Man, drinking milk again?’ you know,” he recalled. “I used to tell my mom all the time, ‘Will we ever be able to find what we want at stores whenever we go grocery shopping?’”

Throughout the ’90s and 2000s, he remembers the Honduran staples his family enjoyed becoming more accessible in local grocery stores, and it’s now relatively easy for him to find them at markets near his home in the Fairfax, Virginia, area.

But some things are still missing. “[I] just wanted to taste certain types of foods, some dishes, some fruits, for example, that they just won’t bring here. For the longest time, I had that nostalgia.” So in 2017, Colindres returned to Honduras for the first time since he was a teenager to satisfy those years-long cravings.

When he arrived at his sisters’ house, he was greeted with the smell of his favorite dish from his childhood: nacarigüe, or corn rice soup. The next day, Colindres stopped by the mercado and polished off plenty of local produce that, while delicious, gave him a stomach bug and ultimately landed him in the hospital, he recalled.

“That nostalgia, having not been able to have that taste in your mouth for so long, you know, it was great having that feeling back,” he said. “I paid the consequences, but I think it was all worth it.”

Colindres isn’t the only one yearning for the comfort of foods tied to their