No One’s Cooking With Sound Anymore

You used to hear it before you smelled it.

The first hiss of butter hitting steel. The sharp crackle of skin meeting flame. The low bubble of something being coaxed, slowly, into flavour. Cooking had a sound. And it wasn’t just noise—it was a signal. A promise. Something’s happening here.

Lately, that signal’s gone quiet.

In many kitchens, efficiency hums, but little else. Water baths murmur. Induction burners whisper. Even the pans seem shy. There’s less searing, less flambé, less drama. The sounds of cooking have been softened, subdued, sometimes engineered out entirely.

It’s not wrong. It’s progress, in some ways. Controlled, clean, calm. But something primal is lost when sound disappears from food.

A good sizzle doesn’t just excite—it connects. It draws a line between the cook and the guest, between heat and hunger. A crust forming. A sauce reducing. A caramel cracking under a spoon. These are moments that engage more than taste—they engage anticipation.

Some of the most memorable dishes still carry that signature. A puff of steam. A snap when broken. The rustle of something crisp giving way. You hear them before you eat them. You remember them after.

It’s worth asking: what does silence cost us?