I do enjoy good food writing -- the authors have such warm and lovely relationships with food (and the writing is usually quite good.)
Often in good food writing, the author will call to mind gorgeous memories of meals from youth. Their own mouths water remembering their mother's pies, their father's barbecue and grandma's meatballs.
When i call to mind early meals, i think of large, fast consumption and larger fights. We stuffed down meals along with all the bad feelings between my parents and passed down to us.
Food was used to anesthetize all our emotional pain (physical pain too -- feed a cold, feed a fever, feed a broken leg.)
i don't have fond memories of anything my parents made, although they were both excellent cooks -- my mother could make a brisket like nothing anyone's ever tasted and there were no more fluffy pancakes than my dad's. i knew they tasted good, but i just remember furiously stuffing and stuffing down whatever was put in front of me. no amount was ever enough to make me feel better.
Now, i pick up a fine chef's or restaurant critic's musings on food and meals and I relax into a place where food is cherished and nourishing and beloved. it's nice