Chef’s mouthwatering imagery has revived the culinary film genre. It is a scrumptious cinematic triumph – yet it is also largely to blame for my downward spiral into an unfulfilled half-life of food pornography addiction.

Just like Carl Casper, Chef’s protagonist played by the dynamic Jon Favreau, I once had a healthy appreciation for food. But while his fascination blossomed in the kitchen, mine grew in the soft glow of my laptop screen.

It started out harmlessly enough, browsing through the occasional Buzzfeed slideshow of “unconventional lasagnas.” I knew that gluttony was a sin, but it was also my delicious little secret.

When Netflix added Chef to its repertoire, I gained access to an entirely new way of experiencing food online. Chef’s live-action succulence was mesmerizing, and suddenly the still images that had sustained me for so many years seemed like child’s play.

I first realized that I had a problem when I couldn’t get the crispy, gooey grilled cheese that Casper makes in Chef (20:50-21:50) out of my mind. I decided to create one of my own, but I was struck only with its mediocrity when I took the first bite. Here was a food that I had eaten for years—that I loved and trusted—and yet I found myself dry-mouthed, unmoved by its mortal attempt to stimulate my taste buds.

“Is everything okay?” my roommate asked in puzzlement as she watched me stare hollowly at my sandwich.

I made no reply. How could I explain that the dull flavors in my mouth were now too weak to move me to salivation? That what I craved was not this, but the golden crunch of an impossible movie sandwich?

Filled with shame, I pretended to swallow.

“Mmm. Oooh. That was it. That hit the spot.” I lied.

Chef’s Carl Casper’s liberal experimentation with food fanned the flames of my addiction. I found myself drawn to increasingly graphic and depraved food combinations. Cool Ranch Doritos over canned clams. Vanilla ice cream doused in Heinz’s green tomato ketchup. Normal, real life meals could not compare. I was filled with the deepest sort of self-loathing.

I became numb. There was no food in my world that could compare with the glowing sandwiches prepared in Carl Casper’s food truck. Nothing I produced in my decrepit Vil A kitchen inspired me to moan as Carl Casper’s customers did so easily. I started frequenting Avocado Café at all hours of the night, shoving loveless second dinners down my throat and leaving cash on the counter in shame before making eye contact with anyone.

I soon gave up.  I lost my will to live. My roommates tried desperately to engage me:

“Do you want one of the beignets my mom sent me?”

My stomach lurched as I remembered the beignets Carl Casper shared with his son in New Orleans (1:28:18-1:28:37). I looked at the pastries she offered. Stale. Greasy. With coconut shavings (WTF???). They were nothing like the beignets depicted in Chef. She looked at me expectantly, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I lied.

The next moment my stomach grumbled, betraying its emptiness. There was an ocean of hurt in her eyes, but I didn’t care.

I rushed to my laptop in order to watch the scene where Chef Carl Casper prepares linguine for Scarlett Johanssen (14:14-15:33), not even bothering to open an Incognito tab. I groaned with longing, and resented the inadequacy of all worldly pasta.

“Get help!” my roommate yelled from downstairs. “This is tearing us apart!”

“There is no help for me,” I whispered to my laptop, my cinematic pasta, and my shell of a life.

I haven’t been able to eat anything in almost three days. I am crippled by the shame of not being able to salivate for the food I encounter, even though most of it is perfectly good. I hate myself. I don’t know what will happen. Maybe I’ll die. I don’t care. Perhaps there is salsa equivalent to that prepared by Carl Casper in Chef (17:24-18:30) in Heaven.

If you or anyone you know struggles with an addiction to food pornography, seek help. Dependence on food porn can affect productivity, personal relationships, and overall happiness. Please visit overcomingfoodpornography.org/liberateyoself/jesuschrist for more information.

Chef is rated R (under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian) for strong language and sexualized melted cheese