Cooking 4 Cognition

14/06/2026

New essay on my Substack. If it resonates, share it with someone who needs to hear it.

https://sandravantongerloo.substack.com/p/why-gen-x-women-cant-afford-to-be?r=6xkjvd

07/06/2026

The first reviews are in.

Juju was among the very first eleven people who came to taste VERT CITRON and ROUGE FUMÉ. She went home a raving fan. She wrote me this:

"VERT CITRON feels summery, light, and vibrant, while still being intense in flavor at the same time. It somehow makes everything come alive and pop in your mouth. The seasoning on the strawberries surprised me quite a bit — I did not expect it to work the way it did. Everything felt intentional and well thought out."

She wasn't alone.

The day after the tasting, Jane made grilled haddock with ROUGE FUMÉ and lime zest, sautéed mushrooms and leek rondelles, potatoes with chives and moutarde ancienne. Then she messaged me: "How does that score on the brain food charts?"

Someone else told me I had inspired them to become a witch. A nerd of spices and herbs, they clarified. Their collection has begun.

Omayma used ROUGE FUMÉ on fresh grilled salmon. "The crunchy feeling — so different from what you'd expect. Fantastic."

VERT CITRON and ROUGE FUMÉ. Each comes with a paired herbal tisane. Sourced in the Dordogne. Built in my kitchen.

Founding subscriptions are now open. Two seasonal deliveries, first access, founding price.

https://buy.stripe.com/5kQ7sL8XPdvq7r4fq78og05

06/06/2026

I just don't want to end up dropping a Maggi cube in my food.

That's the last line of this week's Substack. The rest of it is about Alzheimer's, inheritance, and what I built in my kitchen because of it.

Free to read. Link below.

Alzheimer's researchers didn't mention kitchen boredom. I'm mentioning it now. My mother's kitchen taught me that.

01/06/2026

I'm Sandra. The Brain Food Chef - in Périgueux, France.

I cook for the brain I want to protect. My mother had Alzheimer's. That's why I cook the way I do.

Every Saturday I write on Substack about what's on my plate, food in France, good journalism and bad journalism about food and the brain - and how it all comes together so you can feed YOUR brain, deliciously.

I also have some other pots on the stove: a hand-blended spice and herbal tea collection, mostly organic, locally sourced in the Dordogne. Each blend will make your tastebuds wake up and your cooking so much easier and more interesting. As one early adopter put it: "a playground of joy and wonderment in my mouth."

The best place to start is the kitchen. Here are the 10 things I always have in mine - free, on my free Substack:

https://sandravantongerloo.substack.com/subscribe

30/05/2026

The brain health supplement industry is worth $517 billion and climbing.

Somewhere in that gold rush, a big American newspaper, a very credentialed expert, and a supplement company found each other.

My third Substack unpacks it. And ends with a vinaigrette.

https://open.substack.com/pub/sandravantongerloo/p/advertorial-dressed-up-as-science?r=6xkjvd&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

23/05/2026

The tarte was the size of the market hall. I am not exaggerating.

https://open.substack.com/pub/sandravantongerloo/p/ramene-ta-fraise?r=6xkjvd&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

17/05/2026

I wrote about GLP-1s, Ozempic, and strawberries. About real food that holds power. My first Substack essay is live.

https://open.substack.com/pub/sandravantongerloo/p/the-new-york-times-stopped-where-515?r=6xkjvd&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

16/05/2026

One in eight Americans is now injecting a synthetic hormone their gut could produce naturally. For free. At every meal. With real food.

I published my first Substack post this morning asking the question nobody in the Ozempic conversation is asking: what happens to your brain when you eat less of everything?

The New York Times devoted an entire podcast to GLP-1s. It was fascinating. It also never once walked into a kitchen.

I did. And I brought the Japanese study showing one home cooked meal a week reduces dementia risk significantly, the food matrix science that explains why you cannot put a strawberry in a capsule, and the strawberries from my Saturday market in the Dordogne.

If you want to learn how what you cook and how you age are connected, this one is for you.

https://open.substack.com/pub/sandravantongerloo/p/the-new-york-times-stopped-where-515?r=6xkjvd&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

10/05/2026

Don’t miss the ten days the Dordogne smells like honey and roses.

My favorite way of welcoming la belle saison.

After the morning dew lifts, the acacia blossom is at its most fragrant. That is the window. Not dawn, not noon. That particular hour when the air is still cool and the flowers have opened all the way and the bees haven’t beaten you to them yet.

This week my baskets have been coming back overflowing.

White acacia blossoms picked after the dew. Their perfume is almost too much. Almost. Deep red roses from the climber that kisses the old stone wall every May, petals so dark they stain your fingers. And armfuls of elderflower, cut at the stem while the morning is still young.

The acacia and roses become a syrup. Pale gold shading into the softest rosé blush. A slice of lemon, a splash of sparkling water, and you have something so fragrant and beautiful it feels like a cocktail.

We also fried some of the blossoms in a light batter. Acacia beignets, dusted with sugar, eaten warm at the garden table with my son. Some things you don’t need a recipe for. You just need the right ten days.

The elderflower goes into a kombucha. Floral on the nose, lemony but greener on the tongue. Something between a meadow and a garden after rain. And because it’s fermented, it is doing extraordinary things for your gut, your immunity, and your brain while tasting like pure pleasure. Staying hydrated has never felt like such a gift.

The rest goes into a vinegar. Elderflower vinegar, for salads that taste like the beginning of summer.

Every season in the Dordogne hands you something different. Something you’d never think to buy in a shop. Something that only exists right now, in this place, at this moment. You just have to know to look.

The acacia is in full bloom.

What’s growing near you right now that you’ve been walking past?