Scrolling for Survival: Cooking Videos Are the New Food Bank

Source: Pixaby

When I was a very young kid, a lot of things at our table were covered in sauce, on toast, or dipped in ketchup. That’s how you stretched flavor when food had to last or when portions were limited. We were briefly on food stamps. I remember once asking for peanut M&Ms at the grocery store and being told, “We can’t do it this week.” It was less than fifty cents, but it stuck with me. That night we had dried beef gravy on toast. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was warm and salty. Can’t have chocolate, but did have a simple savory dinner. Those small denials shaped my sense of what it meant to “make do.” I was always interested in food—even critical of it, though only silently, for fear of being reprimanded as a kid. In my head, I’d reimagine dinners and think, I could make that better.

Scrolling for Solutions

Now, decades later, I scroll through Instagram Reels and problem-solve in my kitchen—how to make a red pepper and white bean pasta sauce in my blender, how to bake focaccia infused with rosemary and olive oil. Millions do the same thing (Pew Research Center, 2024). These videos have become a kind of shared instruction manual for resilience. They offer both practical tips and a subtle form of emotional support: you’re not alone if your grocery haul doesn’t come from high-end food stores. You can still make something satisfying and nourishing, even when your ingredients come from the discount aisle or the food pantry.

Some of the best meals I’ve ever made came from that same mindset—cheaper cuts of meat, homemade bread, and eggs cooked just so. Food becomes more than sustenance; it’s creativity under constraint, a quiet act of self-worth and self-care. When I have a bad day, I make pancakes from scraps—overripe bananas, nuts, a paper-thin slice of ham, and cooked-down blueberries for syrup. And yet, the news cycle barely touches the reality some are facing today. The SNAP crisis may trend for a few days, a headline here and there about benefit cuts or inflation, before attention moves to the next national drama (United States Department of Agriculture, Food and Nutrition Service, 2024). But people still have to eat. The story doesn’t end when headlines fade; people still have to eat.

Semiotic Domains and Digital Kitchens

That’s where digital media steps in. On TikTok, hashtags like #pantrymeals, #affordablemeals, or #budgetfood create what media scholar James Paul Gee might call semiotic domains—shared spaces where meaning is made through practice and participation (Gee, 2003; Sandberg, 2022). These aren’t just recipes; they’re cultural codes of survival and dignity. Viewers learn by watching, imitating, and sharing—building knowledge about food and care.

I also wonder where the line is between awareness and action. I appreciate the creators who bring visibility to food insecurity—those who film their budget meal plans or teach low-cost cooking (Jang et. al, 2024). Still, I wonder: what happens to the money you’re not spending? Does that money stay with you, or does it reach someone who needs it? Visibility without redistribution can become another form of comfort for those already comfortable.

Psychological Sustenance

Psychologically, these online food spaces serve a dual purpose. For some, they’re coping tools—a way to regain agency amid scarcity. Cooking videos can offer a sense of control, small wins, and community validation. For others, they satisfy a vicarious need for empathy and belonging: seeing someone else stretch $20 across a week reminds us we’re part of a larger struggle, not failing individually. That shared resilience is powerful—but it can’t replace systemic support.

Policy and psychology rarely move at the same pace. Digital visibility spreads instantly; policy change grinds slowly. Decisions are at a standstill now due to the government shutdown. A viral video might earn a million likes, but the grocery bill still needs to be paid. What happens when social media’s emotional solidarity outpaces political will? When do we treat empathy as entertainment?

Beyond the Algorithm

I keep thinking about the difference between surviving publicly and living privately. Every day, creators post “what I eat in a day” videos that double as confessionals of budget and exhaustion. And every day, millions of viewers—many of whom may have never used food stamps—consume those stories as both inspiration and relief. I’m glad the content exists. Yet, who’s listening beyond the algorithm? Who’s making sure the people in those videos don’t just get followers, but also food?

That’s why I still donate monthly to a local food pantry and rely on Good and Cheap: Eat Well on $4/Day by Leanne Brown—a reminder that good food should never be a privilege (Brown, 2015). Heading back to the kitchen to stir Brown’s French onion soup, which takes three hours and four pounds of onions, I stir every 20 minutes to reach that deep caramelization. Onions were $6 and will make a fine meal for my kid and me with some simple cheese toast. It’s always about what you do with what you have.

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So before you scroll past the next “grocery challenge,” remember: someone’s dinner tonight depends on more than likes—consider donating to a pantry.