Clemmie Pellew Harvey on Food, Memory and the Stories That Shape Us

Food tells the truth about who we are long before we learn to put those truths into words. For qualified nutritional therapist and author Clemmie Pellew Harvey, that truth begins with the warmth of a childhood kitchen and the understanding that what we eat is never just about hunger. It is history, emotion, instinct and identity woven together.

This is the first instalment in our interview series with Clemmie, a deeper look at the woman behind the work and the philosophies that have shaped her voice within family nutrition. Across the next month we explore the way she thinks, feels and lives around food, beginning with the very thing that grounds her approach to everything she teaches: identity.

When Clemmie speaks about food, she does so with the kind of clarity that comes from lived experience rather than theory. Her memories are vivid, her reflections unhurried, and her connection to the meaning behind a meal feels both instinctive and intentional. In this conversation she opens up about the kitchen she grew up in, the table that shaped her values, the influence of motherhood and the moments that remind her of the person she used to be.

This is a portrait of Clemmie through the foods she returns to, the rituals she cherishes and the identity she continues to build.

What are your earliest food memories and how have they influenced the way you cook and eat today?

My earliest food memories are of my home kitchen growing up – nothing fancy, just simple, nourishing meals made with love. I remember the smell of roast chicken on a Sunday and how the whole house felt warmer because of it. Those moments taught me that food isn't just fuel; it's connection, comfort, and care. Today, I cook the same way – minimally processed, wholesome ingredients that bring people together. I want my daughter Pia to grow up with those same feelings around food: safety, joy, and belonging.

If we looked at your family table growing up what story would it tell about who you were then?

Our family table was busy, welcoming, and always full. It told the story of a family that prioritised being together, even when life got hectic. Mealtimes weren't perfect, but they were consistent – and that's something I've carried forward. I don't aim for perfection with Pia, but I do aim for presence.

I grew up in the countryside with far more space than our little (but lovely!) London maisonate allows, so we can't host the way my parents did. But when we eventually move out of the city, I want to fill our table with the people we love – those are some of my best memories. There was always a friend, a neighbour, or a relative at our table, and I think that sense of community is so comforting. It's something I want to recreate for my own family when we have the space.

Food often carries culture in a way words cannot. How do you see heritage showing up in the way people eat?

Heritage lives in the rituals we don't even realise we're keeping. It's in the way we season our food, the dishes we crave when we're homesick, and the recipes we pass down without writing them down. For so many families, food is the thread that connects generations. I see it all the time in my work – parents wanting their children to love the foods they grew up with, not just for nutrition, but for identity and memory.

When you travel do you find yourself drawn to the familiar or do you chase new flavours that challenge your palate?

I'm definitely drawn to new flavours. Travelling is one of the few times I let go of routine and just explore. I love trying things I can't pronounce and wouldn't know how to make. But I also find comfort in familiar flavours when I'm tired or overwhelmed. It's balance – adventure with a safety net.

Has motherhood changed the meaning of food for you in a personal sense rather than a professional one?

Absolutely. Before Pia, food was about health, performance, and knowledge. Now, it's about love, patience, and letting go of control. Watching her relationship with food develop has been humbling, to say the least. It's taught me that the best thing I can do isn't to control what she eats, but to create an environment where she feels safe to explore, refuse, and enjoy food on her own terms. It's the entire reason I wrote my book – born from the experiences I learned from having a fussy eater.

If your life had to be represented by one dish what would it be and why?

A big, colourful salad with loads of texture – crunchy, creamy, sweet, savoury, all in one bowl. It's nourishing but never boring, a bit chaotic but somehow it all works together. That feels like me: juggling motherhood, business, pregnancy, and everything in between, but making it work with intention and a bit of creativity.

Do you believe our relationship with food can ever truly be separate from who we are as people?

No, I don't think it can. Food is woven into our identity, our emotions, our memories, and our values. The way we eat reflects how we were raised, what we believe about ourselves, and how we navigate the world – kind of mind-blowing when you think about it, isn't it?!

That's why healing our relationship with food is so powerful. It's not just about eating better; it's about living better. The truth is, most people have no idea how good they're meant to feel, and food is a huge driver of both our physical and emotional health.

When was the last time you ate something that reminded you of who you used to be?

Recently, I had a bowl of Bran Flakes with sliced banana late at night – pregnancy cravings at their finest. It's something I used to do all the time in my twenties when I was too tired to cook at uni. It reminded me of a simpler time: before motherhood, before business ownership, when my biggest worry was handing in my dissertation on time. It was oddly comforting, like visiting an old version of myself for a moment.

Food and identity are inseparable threads in Clemmie’s world. Her stories remind us that the meals we remember most have little to do with perfection and everything to do with presence. They are moments that anchor us, teach us and follow us into adulthood in quiet, unexpected ways.

As we close the first chapter of this four week series, one thing is clear. Clemmie’s relationship with food is not built on rules or rigidity but on connection. Next week we step into a new conversation with her, exploring the emotional side of eating and the psychology that shapes the choices we make every day.