The Plate on the Screen Isn't the Plate on the Table

The Plate on the Screen Isn't the Plate on the Table

Aug 14 , 2026. By Eden Sahle ( Eden Sahle is founder and CEO of Yoda Technology Plc. She has studied law with a focus on international economic law. She can be reached at edensah2000@gmail.com. )

A nutrition consultant admits that the healthy meals he posts are not his own but are photographs from clients abroad, because he cannot afford to eat that way. If the healthiest plate is always the one families cannot afford, the advice teaches that health is a luxury.

Last week, I listened to Dr Berry Dubiso, a podcast named after an Ethiopian doctor and nutrition consultant whose health writings I have found useful on social media.

However, a few minutes into the podcast, he made an admission that caught me off guard. The food photographs he regularly shares online are not pictures of his own meals. They are sent to him by clients living abroad, and he uses them for "educational purposes."

He admitted that he sometimes begs these clients to send photographs of their plates.

I had been one of those people making the obvious assumption. Because of the health and wellness advice he gives, I thought the healthy meals on his Facebook page were the ones he himself ate. Then came the explanation. Most of the foods shown are too expensive for him to eat that way.

That revelation interested me more than the food itself. It made me ask what "educational purposes" should mean when nutrition advice is given to Ethiopians who may not have access to many of the foods presented as illustrations.

Nutrition education becomes far more meaningful when people can look at a plate and say, "I can actually make this." If the healthiest-looking meals are always made of foods that many families cannot afford, people may begin to see healthy eating not as something achievable, but as a luxury.

That is where the doctor's own photographs became interesting. Looking closely at the plates he shared, I noticed that much of what makes them look healthy is not necessarily expensive. There are vegetables, legumes and other ordinary foods found in Ethiopian households, including those with modest incomes.

The costlier ingredients tend to be the salmon, meat, chicken and eggs, and even these often appear in small portions.

People in the world's Blue Zones, known for healthy longevity, rely largely on complex, plant-based carbohydrates such as beans, lentils and whole grains as staples. Elsewhere, as nutrition conversations have evolved, one nutrient, protein, has taken centre stage. It is the celebrity nutrient of our time, and protein powders are now almost as familiar as ordinary food.

Protein is, of course, essential because our bodies need it for muscle, tissue repair, enzymes, hormones and much else. But it does not have to come only from an expensive piece of meat.

Beans and lentils are protein sources too, not merely carbohydrates, as the doctor described them on his podcast. They are also rich in carbohydrates and fibre, which is precisely why reducing them to a single label, "carbohydrates," misses the bigger picture.

The World Health Organisation (WHO) lists pulses such as lentils, beans, chickpeas and dried peas among healthy sources of carbohydrate, while also recognising plant foods as important sources of protein. Its current guidance states that healthy diets need a balance of protein, carbohydrates and fats, rather than elevating one nutrient above all others.

The Ethiopian dietary guidelines, developed under the Ethiopian Public Health Institute, recommend dietary diversity. They specifically call for 80 to 120 grams of legumes, such as beans, chickpeas, peas and lentils, every day, as sources of protein and other nutrients. They also recognise cereals and grains, nuts and oilseeds, dairy, meat, fish and eggs, fruits and vegetables, and fats and oils as components of a diverse diet, though notably not chicken.

The doctor's account of the photographs made me think about how easily nutrition advice becomes detached from ordinary life.

It is easy to tell someone to eat salmon, Greek yoghurt, Brazil nuts and imported berries. It is harder, and perhaps far more useful, to take the foods available in an Ethiopian market and explain how to combine them into a balanced and healthy meal. That could carry far greater public-health impact.

The same principle applies to the increasingly popular idea that traditional Ethiopian food has to be completely transformed before it can be considered healthy. We should certainly address excessive oil, too much salt, oversized portions and cooking practices that needlessly raise the energy density of food. But there is a danger in assuming that everything traditional is unhealthy.

According to the WHO, the composition of a healthy diet should take account of culture, dietary customs and locally available foods. Its guidance stresses adequacy, balance, moderation and diversity, with diets built largely around minimally processed foods, vegetables, fruits, whole grains and pulses, alongside appropriate animal-source foods. That sounds compatible with many Ethiopian meals.

Perhaps the doctor whose podcast began this train of thought was making an unintended mistake.

If people in Ethiopia cannot afford the meals in his clients' photographs, and he himself admits that he cannot eat that way, what exactly are those photographs teaching those he hopes to educate?

The value lies elsewhere: in showing Ethiopians how to make nutritious meals from foods already in most households, and how to prepare them in healthier ways without making them more expensive. Nutrition education becomes meaningful when people not only understand the advice but also can afford to act on it.

There is a larger issue here. The United Nations food agencies have identified the high cost of a healthy diet as a major global problem. The 2026 edition of the Food Security & Nutrition in the World report focuses specifically on the cost and affordability of healthy diets and their implications for food security and nutrition. It is a reminder that eating healthily is not always a simple matter of better choices.

When nutritious foods are unaffordable and out of reach, the problem extends beyond individual behaviour. It becomes a matter for public health and the food system. This makes practical nutrition advice especially important in Ethiopia.

A nutrition professional should not merely repeat what people can already find on the internet. The real value lies in answering questions relevant to daily life.

What locally produced foods should people eat? Where can they find them? How much do they need? How can they prepare them in healthier ways? And what affordable foods can replace the expensive ones?

This should be the kind of practical and locally relevant guidance that could not only make people tune in but also see enough value to pay for it.

Nutrition professionals hold enormous influence over how ordinary people understand food. Their advice can make healthy eating seem complicated and expensive, or make it feel achievable. Advice that offers real value should look at an Ethiopian family, an Ethiopian market and an Ethiopian kitchen and ask a more useful question.

Given what people have, what can they do better?

That is where Ethiopia's growing nutrition industry can move beyond being a trend and become genuinely useful, practical advice that people can afford, understand and actually put on the plate.

PUBLISHED ON Aug 14,2026 [ VOL 27 , NO 1372]