The Mineral of Grace: What Kampot’s Salt Fields Taught Me About Being the “Salt of the Earth”

I am writing this from Kampot, Cambodia, where the sun reflects off vast pockets of seawater. At first glance, they look like the rice fields I saw in Thailand, but these are the legendary salt fields of Kampot and Kep. I decided to wander to the salt flats between these two coastal towns, known for producing mineral-rich salt that has nourished generations. Here, the ocean is drawn into orderly plots, and the intense sun slowly evaporates the water, leaving behind crystalline salt that harvesters collect by hand.

Kampot Salt Fields 

Yesterday, I spent two hours talking to a 14-year-old girl born and raised in Kampot, whose family owns both a salt field and the small café where I randomly chose to sit and take in the scenery and distant mountains. She was brilliant—speaking excellent English, selling bags of her grandparents’ salt, and serving me an iced Americano to ease the boiling heat. After I shared my interest in nutrition across different global communities, she said something that shifted my perspective: “Cambodians do not have high rates of diabetes yet because we prefer salt over sugar.”

On some level, that seems intuitive, given the impact of sugary foods on metabolic health. Cambodian cuisine is famously rich in salty fish and fermented foods, both for preservation and to suit the local palate. But she followed with a warning. She sees the next ten years changing. She sees mass-produced energy drinks and packaged noodles creeping into the schools, where kids sneak them when their parents are not looking.

Children grow up differently in Cambodia than, say, in America. In the United States, parents often hold their children tightly, eyes always on them—driving them from school to soccer practice and then back home. In Cambodia, there is a level of everyday safety that many Americans can only imagine. Parents let their children walk or bike to and from school on their own, and kids spend plenty of time outdoors from as young as five years old. I can literally walk almost anywhere alone in the dark as a woman and feel safe.

That freedom, however, also means children are not constantly monitored. They gain more independence but may not understand the implications of the foods they choose to eat. Even when their families serve nourishing local meals at home, children can easily access convenience foods and packaged snacks everywhere. Street vendors near schools sell cups of fried noodles, and even lower-income kids often receive small allowances that they may spend on foods detrimental to their long-term health.

Snack Vendor Near Schoolgrounds 

My experience in the salt fields made me realize that salt—so often vilified in Western medicine—has a much deeper story to tell, both for our bodies and our souls. We’re frequently told to avoid salt for cardiovascular and kidney health, and there is truth in those cautions. But salt has so much more to reveal when we look at it through the lens of Jesus, who called His followers the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.”

In an age of relentless headlines—hatred, polarization between political parties, families fractured over ideologies—we can remember our calling as Christians: to be a preserving, healing presence. Salt can be both nourishing and protective for our physical health when used wisely, and a powerful metaphor for our mental, spiritual, and communal well-being. The connection between my time in Kampot’s salt fields, nutrition science, and the teachings of Jesus might seem like a stretch, but this is where my heart and mind have been lately.

Salt and Health

In the West, we are often told that salt is the enemy. Dr. Will Bulsiewicz, a gut-health expert, notes that while chronically high sodium intake can be harmful—especially for those with hypertension or kidney disease—there is a paradox: many of the most health-promoting fermented foods, like the kimchi I love or the miso I discovered in Japan, rely on salt for preservation.

A growing body of research shows that fermented foods can be a beneficial part of the diet, improving gut microbial diversity and helping reduce systemic inflammation. So how is it that foods so high in sodium can still promote health when many nutrition experts urge us to cut back on salt in our daily consumption?

The salt I’ve encountered here in Kampot is very different from the cheap, refined salt used by large food companies to cut costs in ultra-processed snacks. Kampot–Kep salt has a Geographical Indication (GI) tag to protect its authenticity. This traditionally harvested sea salt contains a broad spectrum of minerals and trace elements—magnesium, calcium, potassium, and more—formed as the seawater slowly evaporates under the Cambodian sun.

Kampot Mineral Salts

According to the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), Kampot salt’s mineral profile may support hydration, bone health, and respiratory function, and may help modulate inflammation compared to highly refined table salt, which is almost pure sodium chloride. While more independent research is needed to fully quantify these benefits, the principle is clear: not all salt is created equal, and context matters.

The real issue, then, is not salt itself but the broader “nutrition transition.” As societies urbanize and globalize, traditional diets rich in whole foods are rapidly displaced by ultra-processed products. A study by Brown et al. found that in Cambodia, 29% of children reported eating no fruits or vegetables the previous day, while the same proportion consumed sugary beverages daily. The “hidden salt” in a bag of factory-made chips is a hollow imitation of the mineral-rich crystalline salt harvested under the Kampot sun—stripped of its natural context, paired with cheap fats and refined starches, and engineered to override satiety rather than nourish.

Salt of the Earth

The physical reality—the difference between the salt embedded in ultra-processed foods, ordinary refined table salt, and the mineral-rich salt cultivated and harvested by hand here in Cambodia—mirrors the metaphor Jesus used when He called His followers the “salt of the earth.”

In the first century, salt was a lifeline for people in the ancient Near East. When we view salt through a biblical lens, we begin to see our own calling more clearly in these trying times, when polarization has taken hold of hearts and minds around the world.

Salt has been used for preservation for millennia. Before refrigeration, salt kept meat from rotting. Even here in Cambodia, salt remains essential, especially for poorer families who may not be able to afford refrigerators. They ferment freshly caught fish and local vegetables with salt to sustain life and maintain nutrient-rich diets year-round.

As Christians, we are not called merely to blend in. We are called to be a preserving influence—slowing moral decay, protecting what is good, and speaking life into dark places.

I think of the darkness of the recent attacks in Mexico, where cartel violence has devastated innocent communities. Situations like these can leave us feeling powerless, but they also highlight the urgent need for people willing to be salt and light—praying for peace, supporting those on the ground, and refusing to turn away from suffering.

Salt has also long been used as a flavor enhancer. It makes food taste more fully like itself. In the same way, Christians are meant to bring out the “flavor” of love, grace, and godliness in a world that often feels bland, bitter, or broken.

We may feel hopeless at times, with constant news of wars, famine, and political tensions—even within our own households. Yet we are still called to show love and grace, especially toward those who do not think or believe the way we do. We can and should challenge violent extremism and dehumanizing ideologies that undermine human dignity and freedom, while remaining open-hearted and gracious toward people with different beliefs who desire to live peacefully alongside us. Love does not require silence in the face of injustice, but it does require that we see every person as made in the image of God.

In Scripture, there is even a “covenant of salt.” In Leviticus 2:13, salt symbolizes an eternal, unbreakable covenant: “You shall season all your grain offerings with salt. You shall not let the salt of the covenant with your God be missing.” Salt represented loyalty and faithfulness to God that did not evaporate when circumstances became difficult.

We may feel deeply troubled by the world today, but Jesus Christ is still present. We must go to Him to quiet our anxious hearts, to seek truth and light, and to grow in holiness. He is with us, and we are with Him—and it is often in the hardest seasons that we most clearly see our need for His voice and His presence.

In ancient agriculture, small amounts of salt were used to enrich the soil. Likewise, we are meant to be agents of new life, helping the people around us grow into who God designed them to be.

From a health perspective, this means protecting children from the detrimental effects of ultra-processed foods and machine-made products that bear little resemblance to the God-given foods we were created to enjoy—foods naturally balanced with micronutrients, vitamins, and minerals our bodies recognize. Food is meant to nourish and sustain growth. Yet we now face a paradoxical world where undernutrition and obesity coexist, with rising rates of diet-related disease in children and adolescents across the globe.

We have a responsibility to protect children’s growth and flourishing so they can live healthy, vibrant lives. We help lay the foundation—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Children look to us for models of morality and lifestyle, and when we ourselves are nourished, balanced, and grounded, we become a living example they can follow.

Influence in Trying Times

Being the “salt of the earth” means being like the Kampot salt I observed yesterday: low in the things that raise our collective “blood pressure”—stress, anger, division—and rich in the minerals of the Spirit: patience, kindness, humility, courage, and truth.

It also means living intentionally in very practical ways:

• In our kitchens, choosing foods that truly nourish—favoring whole, minimally processed ingredients; supporting local farmers and traditional food producers when we can; and teaching the next generation what real food looks and tastes like.
• In our communities, noticing the “nutrition transition” happening around us and quietly resisting it—packing fruit instead of chips, sharing fermented foods at the table, or starting simple conversations about health without shame or fear.
• In our spiritual lives, asking God each day where He is inviting us to preserve what is good, to speak truth with gentleness, and to flavor our surroundings with grace rather than resentment.

Whether I’m eating a bowl of miso soup in Japan or walking the salt fields in Cambodia, I am reminded that our calling is the same: to preserve what is life-giving, to enhance the beauty already present, and to protect the health of our bodies, our communities, and our souls.

My prayer is that, like Kampot’s mineral-rich salt, our lives would be dense with quiet goodness, so that wherever we are scattered, we help the world taste just a little more like the Kingdom of God.

References 

Brown, A., Trimble, M., Sokal-Gutierrez, K., Fernald, L., Madsen, K., & Turton, B. (2024). Sugar-sweetened beverages, foods of low nutritional value, and child undernutrition in Cambodia. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 21(2), 169. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph21020169

Bulsiewicz, W. (2026). 335: Dr. Will Bulsiewicz - The Plant Powered Plus Blueprint: Your Step-by-Step Path Out of Inflammation. PLANTSTRONG Podcast. Apple Podcasts. https://podcasts.apple.com/de/podcast/ep-335-dr-will-bulsiewicz-the-plant-powered-plus/id1458774193

World Intellectual Property Organization. (2024). GI Kampot-Kep Salt – A high mineral salt from Cambodia. WIPO. https://www.wipo.int/en/web/ip-advantage/w/stories/gi-kampot-kep-salt

The Double Burden of Development: Cambodia’s Nutrition Transition from Fields to Factories

Local Cambodian Foods

 Phnom Penh has its fair share of vibrant wet markets, where stalls overflow with fruits and vegetables, yet these traditional spaces now stand in the shadow of the city’s rapidly multiplying convenience stores. These stores offer a revealing lens into Cambodia’s dramatic nutrition transition. Like many countries in Southeast Asia, Cambodia is grappling with a “double burden” of disease: in the same towns—and often the same communities—some children suffer from stunting while others struggle with overweight and obesity. This mirrors what I observed in Sri Lanka, where rural communities consumed more vegetables and fruits and fewer snacks and fried foods than their urban counterparts. In Cambodia, the trickle-down effects of urbanization expose city dwellers to convenient, ultra-processed foods on nearly every block, making crackers, biscuits, and packaged snacks increasingly likely to replace home-cooked meals and traditional dishes. 
As someone deeply concerned about the global rise in obesity and non-communicable diseases (NCDs), I explore how this largely agrarian nation is navigating a profound shift—from traditional, nutrient-dense dietary patterns toward a modern era marked by a pandemic of lifestyle-related disease—and the systemic efforts underway to better connect rural food production with urban consumption. 

This essay argues that Cambodia’s best hope for a healthier future lies not in rejecting modernization, but in intentionally elevating its traditional food cultures and spiritual institutions as anchors amid rapid change.

Cambodia’s Nutrition Transition and the Rise of NCDs 

Cambodia is undergoing a dietary paradox common to many countries, including India, the United States, and Mexico. Globalization has intensified exposure to Western-style foods, especially the packaged, sugary products that surged in popularity in the 20th century. Although Cambodia’s economy relies heavily on agriculture—contributing roughly 22 percent of its GDP—the country faces a mounting threat from NCDs. Even among rural farmers and communities who still rely largely on local foods, NCDs accounted for an estimated 64 percent of deaths in 2018, a figure that continues to climb. Historically, Cambodia’s primary health burdens were infectious diseases and undernutrition; today, they increasingly include lifestyle-related risks. This “nutrition transition” reflects a broader shift in daily life—from rural foraging, preservation, and home cooking to an urban environment, especially in Phnom Penh, where high-sugar, ultra-processed foods are widely available and aggressively marketed.

The Urban–Rural Divide

Cambodia’s nutritional landscape is changing rapidly, especially among young people and urban residents. Traditionally, Cambodian cuisine is remarkably health-promoting, centered on relatively low-calorie, high-fiber foods such as freshwater fish, rice, and abundant leafy greens like morning glory, bok choy, and watercress (Stockton, n.d.). Although it receives less international attention than Thai or Vietnamese cuisine, Cambodian food features similar aromatic herbs, broths, and stir-fries, often highlighting fresh, river-caught seafood. Wet markets are filled with fresh, homemade tofu crafted from soybeans and coagulated with natural agents. While rice remains the staple, many dishes are vegetable-rich stews and soups, and fermented foods are common. These fermented products support gut health by fostering microbial diversity, which is increasingly linked to improved metabolic and immune outcomes. Unfortunately, this traditional dietary pattern is gradually eroding under the influence of aggressive marketing for sugary drinks, energy beverages, and other ultra-processed products. 

Sugary Bev Advertisement

While wandering the streets of Phnom Penh, I was struck by the juxtaposition of the sacred and the commercial. I passed a beautiful gold temple where monks walked quietly in saffron robes, only to see, just next door, a billboard advertising Coca-Cola, complete with a smiling face and Khmer text implying health and happiness. In the city, sugar enters daily life not only through sodas but also through heavily sweetened coffee and green tea. I was relieved to see some cafés listing the grams of sugar added even to an Americano—an encouraging, if modest, step toward transparency. Yet sugar’s low cost and our innate preference for sweetness—a deeply rooted biological drive for quick carbohydrates—mean that excessive intake remains common, contributing to insulin resistance and other metabolic disorders. Cambodians also tend to favor salty flavors, evident in the many fermented and pickled foods that can be high in sodium and MSG, as well as noodle dishes like kuy teav, often topped with multiple sauces (Sinorn, 2024). For low-income families, economic hardship drives dependence on cheap, high-carbohydrate staples such as rice and energy drinks to power long working hours, increasing the risk of diabetes and hypertension. This challenge affects not only youth but also anyone who cannot afford more diverse, nutrient-dense meals. I often notice families in restaurants sharing small, rice-heavy dishes rather than ordering more vegetables or protein—a pattern that reflects both financial constraints and broader agricultural and food system dynamics in Cambodia. However, these shifts in consumption do not occur in isolation and are deeply entangled with how food is produced, valued, and traded. 

When Productivity Undermines Farmer Health

While urban residents increasingly grapple with overnutrition from ultra-processed foods, rural populations face a different but related set of pressures. Studies suggest that as rural incomes rise, consumption of packaged foods, snacks, and sweets tends to increase, indicating that additional disposable income is often directed toward the very products that fuel NCDs. On the surface, this seems paradoxical: one might assume that when rural households earn more, they would simply buy more fresh produce and higher-quality protein. Instead, there is a powerful social and psychological pull toward branded foods from large multinational companies. After years of viewing these items as aspirational, glossy advertising and improved affordability converge to drive consumption. Because many of these foods are low in fiber and key micronutrients—such as vitamins, minerals, phytochemicals, and antioxidants—they are less satiating, encouraging people to eat more without feeling full. The brain’s reward circuitry reinforces this cycle, keeping people reaching for the next packet. When a family finally has the means to buy a shiny imported snack from Singapore or the United Kingdom, the purchase can feel like a small marker of social mobility. Yet there is often limited awareness of how these products alter our biology and physiology, and how hidden health costs can ultimately outweigh the price on the label. 

At the same time, Cambodian farmers are entangled in wider global trade dynamics. The country produces over 11 million tonnes of rice annually, yet high production costs and volatile international markets make agricultural livelihoods precarious (Chamrong, 2025). Farmers and policymakers alike confront a difficult tension: on one hand, exporting “premium” or “organic” products such as fragrant rice and cashew nuts is essential for foreign exchange and economic growth; on the other, diverting the highest-quality, most nutrient-dense foods to export markets can limit availability and affordability for local communities. This raises important questions about who ultimately benefits from Cambodia’s agricultural productivity and how to balance short-term economic gains with long-term nutritional security.

Policy and Grassroots Interventions

To counter these worrisome trends, the Royal Government of Cambodia and a range of NGOs have initiated multi-pronged strategies that operate from national policy to the village level (UNICEF Cambodia, 2025).

School Meals

One promising approach is the homegrown school feeding program. The World Food Programme (WFP) and the Ministry of Education have transitioned to a “homegrown” model that provides meals to approximately 280,000 children using locally sourced ingredients (Chea, 2022). This approach does more than alleviate short-term hunger; it helps normalize traditional, nutrient-dense flavors by exposing students to familiar Cambodian foods daily. Such efforts are critical in resisting the spread of the Standard American Diet into every corner of the globe. Schools are a primary source of food for many rural and lower-income students, meaning that government choices about school meals effectively shape children’s palates, priorities, and even their sense of cultural identity. By consistently serving pungent vegetables, fermented dishes, and balanced meals, the school system can support children’s cognitive performance in class, fuel their physical activity—whether working on family farms or playing football on dusty school fields—and reinforce pride in local food traditions. 

Organic Farms on the Monastery

Another strategy highlights the role of Buddhist monks in improving nutrition at the grassroots level. Buddhism is central to Cambodian life, and temples are scattered across the landscape much like churches in the southern United States or mosques in Saudi Arabia. In a striking example of cultural and environmental alignment, monks at pagodas such as Serei Sakor Daun Sdoeung are transforming temple grounds into organic gardens (Global CSR, n.d.). By cultivating lettuce, spinach, jackfruit, and other crops, these monastics are promoting “spiritual and physical well-being” and distributing organic seedlings to local villagers, using the pagoda’s unique position as a community hub to advance both health and sustainability.

This movement echoes the rise of community gardens in Western cities. When I lived in New York City, I watched neighbors convert small plots in urban parks into spaces for growing local produce, creating not only access to fresh food but also a strong sense of collective ownership and connection. In Cambodia, pagoda gardens serve a similar purpose, with the added moral authority of monastic leadership. The influence of monks can help reframe nutritious, locally grown foods as both a spiritual and social good, potentially shifting community norms around eating and wellness.

My own experiences in London deepened my appreciation for faith-based contributions to food security and health. I saw churches offering free community meals, safe spaces, and emotional refuge—addressing hunger, loneliness, and spiritual needs at once. These moments reminded me that food is never just about nutrients; it is about dignity, culture, and care. In Cambodia, too, spiritual institutions can become powerful partners in navigating the nutrition transition, helping communities withstand the pressures of globalized food systems. 

While Policy and community action can shape the food environment, the deeper work lies in how Cambodians understand and reclaim their own culinary heritage.

Reviving Cambodia’s Bitter and Protective Foods

Looking ahead, one important path for Cambodia lies in reclaiming its traditional fermentation practices and indigenous “superfoods.” Vegetables such as sadoa (a bitter flower) and bitter melon have long been used in local diets and are traditionally believed to prevent illness and help regulate body temperature. When combined with staples like congee (rice broth) and fermented fish preparations, these foods provide fiber, beneficial microbes, and bioactive compounds that are increasingly recognized as protective against NCDs.

Integrating health and economic development will require a renewed focus on Cambodian localism. This could include gradually replacing highly refined white rice with more traditional, less-processed grains where feasible, and emphasizing soups and stews prepared with healthier fats, higher fiber content, a diverse range of herbs and spices, and reduced sodium and added sugar. On the policy side, potential measures include taxing sugary beverages, restricting advertisements for ultra-processed foods—especially those targeting children and rural populations—and subsidizing nutrient-dense local foods like moringa, river fish, and root vegetables to realign incentives. Taken together, these strategies would allow Cambodia to pursue economic growth without sacrificing public health, ensuring that the benefits of development are shared not only in income statistics but also in the everyday diets and well-being of its people.

Conclusion

The nutrition transition in Cambodia is a microcosm of a global struggle to balance modernization with metabolic health. One key takeaway from my time in Cambodia, alongside my research, is this: food is the ultimate intersection of culture, dignity, and survival. Cambodia’s challenge stems from a tension between the allure of globalized convenience and the resilience of local traditions.

Governments and NGOs can integrate the moral authority of the Sangha, the monastic community, with robust national policies—such as homegrown school feeding programs and targeted sugar taxes—to forge a unique path forward. Rather than attempting to reject Western “big food” outright, Cambodians can focus on elevating their traditional recipes and tastes, such as nutrient-dense mudfish, to their rightful place as guardians of the nation’s health. The goal is to ensure that as Cambodia’s economy continues to climb, its people are not left behind in a cycle of preventable disease but are instead nourished by the rice paddies, river fish, and bitter greens that have sustained Cambodian life for generations. 

For readers within and beyond Cambodia, the question becomes: how do we align our daily food choices with the futures we hope to build?

References 

Stockton, P. (n.d.). Nutrition and fasting in Cambodian culture. EthnoMed. https://ethnomed.org/resource/nutrition-and-fasting-in-cambodian-culture/

Global CSR. (n.d.). Sustainable living in Cambodia: Buddhist monks farm organic produce. https://globalcsr.org/sustainable-living-in-cambodia-buddhist-monks-farm-organic-produce/

Chamrong, N. (2025). Can Cambodia’s agri-products overcome market challenges? Khmer Times. https://www.khmertimeskh.com/501658684/can-cambodias-agri-products-overcome-market-challenges/

Sinorn, T. (2024). Cambodia faces growing threat of non-communicable diseases. Kiripost. https://kiripost.com/stories/cambodia-faces-growing-threat-of-non-communicable-diseases

Rithy Reak, K. (2025). WFP, Cambodia Vow to Deepen Cooperation on Food Security and Nutrition. Ministry of Information. https://www.information.gov.kh/articles/172784

UNICEF Cambodia. (2025). UNICEF and Cambodia renew commitments to improving nutrition for all. https://www.unicef.org/cambodia/press-releases/unicef-and-cambodia-renew-commitments-improving-nutrition-all

Chea, C. (2022). Celebrating the continued transition of the school feeding programme in Cambodia. World Food Programme. https://www.wfp.org/news/celebrating-continued-transition-school-feeding-programme-cambodia

Observations on Vietnam: Economic Growth, Metabolic Shifts, and the Wisdom of the Elderly

Ninh Binh

    Looking over the skylines of Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City today reveals a country undergoing a profound transformation, with cultural shifts sweeping across the nation. Middle- and low-income countries are undergoing what researchers term the "Nutrition Transition," moving from traditional, labor-intensive diets of Vietnamese and Malay grandparents to an era dominated by convenience foods, refined sugars, and sedentary digital lifestyles.[1,2] While Vietnam's economy is rapidly advancing—evident to visitors through bustling businesses and widespread construction—the overall health of its population is suffering a hidden toll. Even on Phu Quoc Island last week, I observed roads cordoned off for new hotels and businesses, indicating the peak of tourism driven by lower prices relative to Thailand. To address the rising rates of obesity and non-communicable diseases among young people everywhere, we must examine how cultures are shifting toward processed foods and away from fostering healthy minds and bodies. 

    

    People are increasingly spending time on social media, playing video games, and using motorcycles, shifting from a culture once driven by labor. Vietnamese youth should revisit the ancestral wisdom found in traditional Vietnamese cuisine and morning sidewalk routines that have preserved the culture for centuries. As an American, I have learned a great deal about Vietnam through its cuisine and daily life during my six weeks here, and I observe that traditional wellness practices among youth are gradually fading. If cultural change continues, the elders' knowledge of healthy living could be lost forever, much like old roads that are paved over.

The Rice Balance and Glycemic Control

Vegetarian Buffet in Phu Quoc 

    The nutrition transition in Vietnam reflects a rise in overweight individuals, linked to a fundamental shift in how the body metabolizes energy. Over the past decade, obesity rates, especially among children, have increased as traditional fiber-rich diets have given way to ultra-processed foods.[1,2] As I walk through various areas, I see street vendors offering snacks and drinks high in salt and sugar, far removed from the wholesome foods historically central to Vietnamese cuisine. While many still enjoy traditional dishes such as phở and tofu with steamed rice or noodles, even these staples now pose hidden health risks. 

    White rice is integral to Vietnamese culture, but recent global research links high refined white rice consumption to a greater risk of Type 2 diabetes.[3] I recall being in India and struggling to find foods low in refined starches, as most local options centered on white rice; only in Bangalore did I see whole grains like ragi mudde. As in India, the Vietnamese diet relies heavily on white rice, primarily due to economic factors. Rice is a satiating food, and, from a governmental perspective, prioritizing rice cultivation is reasonable to combat starvation and malnutrition. However, with increased food access, subsidizing rice over fresh fruits and vegetables might be more harmful than beneficial for the population. 

    Vietnamese typically see rice as the centerpiece of their lunch and dinner, with other foods as sides. It's concerning that diabetes and chronic metabolic diseases are on the rise.[9] The goal isn't to abandon rice as a cultural heritage but to find a balance. Eating white rice alone leads to quick blood sugar spikes due to its high glycemic load. However, pairing it with high-fiber foods and healthy fats—such as fatty fish and abundant local vegetables—and serving smaller portions (e.g., half a cup instead of two) can promote metabolic health. Although brown rice is less refined and higher in fiber than white rice, it is often more expensive and less popular among locals. Instead of simply replacing white rice with brown rice, I recommend changing perceptions—consume less rice and include more vegetables, fruits, and healthy proteins for a more sustainable, nourishing meal. 

Bioactive Compounds and Traditional Ingredients

Hot Cacao Drink 

    To navigate the nutrition transition, it's important to look at the fiber-rich and fermented foods that Vietnam's ancestors included in their diet. For example, sweet potato leaves, known as rau lang, are a common leafy green dish popular at many restaurants and cơm bình dân shops. They contain bioactive compounds and antioxidants that support heart health and help regulate blood glucose.[4] In Western countries, rau lang is comparable to Swiss chard and dark spinach, both of which are among the most nutrient-dense foods available. 

    Similarly, fermented fish products like mắm, often called fish sauce in the West, are essential to Vietnamese cuisine and are rich in GABA, a compound known to help regulate blood pressure and enhance metabolic health.[5] I didn't realize before coming to Vietnam that fish sauce is a fermented food. As research increasingly highlights the benefits of fermented foods for the gut microbiome, it's exciting to see that fish sauce might be a healthier alternative to the sugary, high-fat sauces used in other dishes. 

    Even daily coffee and tea consumption across cultures serves as a "metabolic accelerator." Vietnam, known for its widespread use of matcha, black coffee, and oolong tea, offers drinks like fermented rice tea and cafe moui—a rich black coffee topped with cream—at nearly every street corner. Bioactive compounds such as Chlorogenic Acid (CGA) in coffee and EGCG in tea help "brown" human fat cells, transforming them into calorie-burning machines that could combat obesity internally. These traditional ingredients act as a biological shield against processed sugars prevalent in modern diets. However, a concern is that while many people regularly consume these drinks for their health benefits, they often contain added sugar, cream, and other unnecessary additives—highly palatable and encouraging overconsumption. These ingredients can do more harm than good, reducing the benefits of the natural compounds present in tea and coffee, which have been part of human diets for centuries. We should promote beverages that are low in sugar or made with natural ingredients, rather than those containing artificial syrups and processed creams. Warning labels on sugary products about their health risks should be more common, particularly when consumed in excess. Ultimately, we aim to prevent adolescents from replacing nourishing meals with sugary drinks such as strawberry matcha lattes, which do not provide the essential nutrients needed for brain and body health. 

Community Movement vs. Isolated Exercise

Hiking in Sapa 

    In America, "exercise" is often viewed as a solitary activity, typically done in a basement or at the gym. Despite Americans being among the most frequent gym-goers worldwide, they still experience high obesity rates. This is likely because most Americans engage in only a few hours of "intense" exercise per week, while the remainder of the time is spent sitting at desks or watching Netflix on the couch. In contrast, Vietnam has a long history of communal exercise. Whether it’s Tai Chi by the lake or elders playing đá cầu on the sidewalk, activities labeled as "Exercise and Sports" (EAS) have traditionally been a crucial part of Vietnamese public health. 

    The country is becoming more sedentary despite increasing connectivity. As people stay busier and more engaged with screens, their physical activity decreases.[6] I often see elderly individuals outdoors at 6 AM, with women dancing in groups to lively music or using outdoor equipment. While many still utilize public spaces, the popularity of motorbikes and technology means exercise is no longer a daily necessity for everyone. Motorbikes speed past on every street, and fewer young people prefer walking as their main transportation. Even a brief 15-minute walk to the store, often replaced by scooters to save time, harms physical health. We should promote the use of sidewalks as exercise spaces. Consistent physical activity, such as the communal morning walk, supports metabolic health and reduces the risk of chronic illness later in life. I don’t want to see the elderly sitting on tiny stools all day. Instead, I want to observe greater energy among people practicing traditional Chinese exercises and see young people returning to physical activity, reaping long-term mental and physical health benefits. 

Digital Influences and Long-term Bone Health

    Unfortunately, the modern environment is pushing back through our screens. Vietnamese youth are increasingly trapped in a digital "Body-Image Loop" on platforms like TikTok, where idealized beauty standards and "Before-After" transformation videos trigger impulsive purchases of quick-fix beauty products.[7] This digital distraction encourages sedentary lifestyles, diverting people from the communal rituals that once promoted health. Comparing oneself to others on social media can harm self-esteem and lead to unhealthy behaviors to cope or mimic the images portrayed online. The rise of social media has created a hazardous environment where youth may sacrifice their health and become distracted from outdoor activities and real-life experiences beyond the screen. 

    One example of how social media use coupled with a poor diet—often lacking enough calcium and Vitamin D—contributes to chronic diseases is the osteoporosis crisis in Asia, notably in Vietnam. By 2050, it is projected that more than half of global hip fractures will occur in this region.[10] Given the high prevalence of lactose intolerance, there is a need for improved strategies to incorporate bone-protective nutrients through fermented dairy products, such as yogurt or fortified milk, to help preserve bone structure as people age.[10] Public education on diverse exercise routines—such as resistance training and cardiovascular activities—and on maintaining a whole foods diet rich in calcium and Vitamin D is essential to combat osteoporosis. This is just one facet of what can be done to transform chronic disease management through lifestyle changes. 

Reclaiming Ancestral Wisdom for Future Health

    To me, traditional eating habits are incredibly important; as the saying goes, they help us remember who we are.[9] I think about my own ethnic roots, where my mother’s family is Greek, and the Mediterranean diet, known worldwide for promoting longevity and fighting chronic diseases. Whether it's Greece's olive oil and wild greens or Vietnam's fish sauce and sweet potato leaves, these diets offer more than nutrition—they provide a sense of identity and social connection that processed fast food cannot match. We need to encourage young people to reconnect with their health traditions—put down Instagram and Snapchat, learn to cook traditional family dishes, and see their elders’ wisdom not as outdated but as essential survival knowledge for today’s world. Sadly, many have become distracted from the natural gifts of the earth, which have provided us with bok choy, golden kiwis, and summer peaches. Meanwhile, culture has shifted toward convenience foods that are making the world sicker every day. If we want to reverse the rising global crisis of obesity and diabetes, we must wake up and learn from our elders about the healing power of natural foods. 

    There are many lessons Americans could learn from traditional Vietnamese practices that are still widely observed today. In the US, we're used to "solo" eating—quick, oversized portions eaten alone, whether in the car or at a desk with cereal. I note that in Vietnam, people often share meals with friends or family, using food not only for nourishment but also to strengthen social bonds. Americans could incorporate elements of Vietnamese dining style, such as a focus on vibrant local vegetables, naturally balanced portions, and communal sharing. This can reduce feelings of isolation and overeating linked to the typical Western diet. We don't need to eat solely for health—it's about community, nourishment, and connection. Supporting local produce vendors, inviting friends for healthy meals, or taking walks with family can foster well-being. Remember, we have God and each other to combat environmental influences that threaten our health and to help us be our best, healthiest selves. 

    Vietnamese elders have taught me that we must bridge the gap between traditional ways and our rapidly changing world. We need to ensure that economic growth and technological advancements do not sacrifice our lives.

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