This piece is part of the weekly series “Growing Forward: Insights for Building Better Food and Agriculture Systems,” presented by the Global Food Institute at the George Washington University and the nonprofit organization Food Tank. Each installment highlights forward-thinking strategies to address today’s food and agriculture related challenges with innovative solutions. To view more pieces in the series, click here.
For years, medicine and food existed in parallel worlds: one focused on disease, the other on culture and flavor. Dr. Timothy Harlan—a chef turned physician, Associate Professor of Medicine at the George Washington University, and Global Food Institute affiliate faculty member—has spent his career bridging that divide. A pioneer of culinary medicine, he has worked to integrate hands-on nutrition and cooking education into medical training, showing that what we eat is as essential to health as any prescription.
In this Q&A with GFI’s Priya Fielding-Singh, Harlan reflects on how he became involved in culinary medicine, the evidence behind its impact, and what it could mean for the future of healthcare. From teaching medical students to cook nutritious meals to shaping community programs, he explains why food is indeed medicine—and why doctors, nurses, nutritionists, dietitians, and chefs alike must speak the same language of healthful eating.
You are a national leader in bringing culinary medicine into medical education. How did you get interested in this work, and what has changed since you first started in this space?
The original spark came from my Dean at Tulane, Dr. Benjamin Sachs. In November 2009, he convened a group of physicians, chefs, medical students, and business leaders to envision opening a culinary medicine kitchen for medical students to learn how to cook. At the time, I wasn’t a medical educator; I was a clinician and physician executive, though I had a background as a chef and had spent decades writing, doing television, and developing culinary programs.
What really drew me in was when Dr. Sachs said he wanted not only to build a kitchen for students but also to teach the broader community how to cook. It took about two years to organize funding and staff, but by 2013 we opened the world’s first purpose-built culinary medicine kitchen at a medical school.
Fast forward to today: dozens of medical schools—including GW—have kitchens, most tracing their roots to the Tulane model. Culinary medicine has grown from a niche idea into a full specialty across medical, nursing, dietetics, and culinary programs.
Why do you think culinary medicine has gone from a niche idea to a widely adopted specialty?
Part of it comes from the reality of today’s greatest health challenges. Forty years ago, patients with congestive heart failure had a high risk of death; today, outcomes are dramatically better. The challenge is that during the same period of incredible medical advance there has been a concomitant rise in calorie-dense, nutrient-poor foods. This has led to significant food related illness driving a dramatic rise in metabolic syndrome, diabetes, hypertension, and heart disease. Food related conditions now drive the majority of what clinicians see, and physicians need tools to help patients navigate and enjoy high-quality food—not just prescribe medications. The rise of culinary medicine reflects that urgent need.
You’ve argued that medical students need hands-on culinary training, not just nutrition coursework. Why isn’t traditional nutrition education enough?
Knowledge alone isn’t enough; people need deliberate practice. A physician can tell a patient to “eat more fiber,” but without practical guidance—like how to choose whole grains, nuts, or vegetables in ways that fit into daily life—that advice often falls flat.
Research shows that patients generally take their doctors’ advice seriously. But when healthcare professionals walk the walk, not just talk the talk, patients listen even more closely. Doctors knowing how to prepare great food that just happens to be great for you is as critical to patient care as understanding pharmacology or pathophysiology. Without that practical grounding, even the best dietary recommendations can feel abstract or unattainable. Culinary medicine bridges that gap.
What evidence have you seen that culinary medicine changes how physicians approach patient care, or even improves patient outcomes?
The research, while still growing, is promising. Observational and cross-sectional studies show that healthcare students who participate in culinary medicine programs feel more prepared to counsel patients. They’re also healthier themselves—they report higher Mediterranean diet scores, they cook more, and they are more confident in the kitchen.
Community-based research supports similar outcomes. At Tulane, we conducted randomized trials showing participants were three to four times as likely to cook most days of the week compared to control groups. One study even collected people’s grocery receipts and found families saved an average of US$5,800 per year by cooking more and relying less on pre-prepared meals. Research such as the investigation by Dr. Nicole Farmer at the NIH Clinical Center, DC Cooks, that the GW team collaborates on is looking at culinary medicine interventions in underserved communities. These types of research show patients’ diet quality improves, which directly relates to reduced morbidity and mortality. Beyond these clinical outcomes, participants gain skills, confidence, and autonomy in the kitchen. It empowers them to take control of their health.
As the Health Meets Food curriculum expanded to new schools and communities, what’s helped it take root and succeed?
The biggest lesson we have learned is that every medical school—and every community—is unique. As Dr. Sachs often said: “If you’ve seen one medical school, you’ve seen one medical school.” Curricula, faculty skill sets, and institutional priorities differ, so programming needs to be flexible and adaptable.
Early on, interest came mainly from students and faculty enthusiasts. Today, requests typically come from Deans’ offices or university leadership. This reflects a sea change: medical school leaders increasingly recognize culinary medicine as essential for training all healthcare professionals, not just physicians. The interdisciplinary aspect is critical: nurses, PAs, dietitians, pharmacists, chefs, and food service professionals all need a shared foundation.
Another key factor is including the community, like chefs and food service staff, alongside students and professionals. The American College of Culinary Medicine now certifies chefs and foodservice professionals in culinary medicine, fostering collaboration and shared standards across healthcare and food sectors. This 360-degree view ensures that education, practice, and community engagement reinforce each other.
Looking ahead, if culinary medicine became standard in medical education, how could it reshape healthcare and public health—and what would it take to make that vision real?
As culinary medicine becomes the standard of care, it will fundamentally change how we deliver healthcare. Imagine every medical school and hospital system with a fully equipped culinary medicine kitchen—training not just physicians, but nurses, dietitians, pharmacists, chefs, and community members. That can transform clinical care, public health, and even how people think about food.
Ten or fifteen years ago, if you’d told me that might happen, I would’ve laughed. Back then, it felt impossible. But now, I actually believe it’s likely that having a culinary medicine kitchen will become the standard of care. We’re already seeing the momentum.
It will take investment, collaboration, and commitment across disciplines, but the benefits are clear: better patient outcomes, empowered communities, lower healthcare costs, and a more food-literate population. Ultimately, culinary medicine is about equipping healthcare professionals and communities with the knowledge and skills to make healthful, delicious food accessible and approachable. It’s a practical, hands-on tool for improving lives—and I think we’re finally starting to treat it that way.
Photo courtesy of Mariana Medvedeva, Unsplash






