When did overeating become normal?

There’s an unspoken rule at many Muslim gatherings:

The table must be full. Actually — overfull.

Not “enough food”. Not “everyone will be satisfied”. But food to the brim, spilling into the kitchen, with extras “just in case”.

A dinner without meat? You must be joking.

A modest spread? People will worry.

And if you go to a restaurant where the plates are small but sufficient — balanced, thoughtful, enough — someone will inevitably say, “Honestly, I could’ve eaten that at home.”

But take the same people to an all-you-can-eat buffet, and suddenly value makes sense again.

Every Muslim reading this knows exactly what I mean. You don’t need examples. You’ve lived it.

So the question isn’t whether this is true. It’s when did this become normal?

From generosity to excess

Food has always been central in Muslim culture. Feeding others is rewarded. Hospitality matters. No one wants guests to leave hungry. All of that is true.

But somewhere along the way, generosity turned into excess, and excess started wearing the clothes of virtue. A table full to the brim became a sign of care. Abundance became proof of effort. Restraint began to look stingy.

And questioning it feels almost rude.

We don’t usually ask:

• Does everyone actually need this much?

• Is this nourishing, or just impressive?

• Are we feeding people — or feeding expectations?

Because it’s easier not to.

The strange contradiction

What’s interesting is how selective we are with our logic.

If food is plentiful, heavy and excessive, it’s seen as generous. If food is intentional, measured and sufficient, it’s seen as lacking.

A small plate that leaves you comfortably satisfied feels like a “waste of money”. A large plate that leaves you uncomfortable somehow feels justified.

We laugh about it, but it’s a strange contradiction.

Islam teaches restraint. Our culture rewards abundance.

And most of us live somewhere in between, feeling vaguely uncomfortable but unsure how to name it.

The Sunnah doesn’t perform

The Sunnah around food is simple. Almost unimpressive by modern standards.

The Prophet ﷺ ate simply. He warned against excess. He left space. He didn’t normalise constant fullness.

And yet, in many Muslim spaces today, overeating is expected, even encouraged, as long as it’s halal and shared.

That tension is worth sitting with.

Why this feels hard to question

Part of the reason this persists is because food isn’t just food. It’s identity, culture, memory and emotion. I would also argue that for Muslims, food is their only ‘halal’ entertainment.

Questioning portion sizes can feel like questioning generosity. Suggesting restraint can feel like rejecting tradition. Choosing less can feel like you are doing something wrong.

So we laugh instead.

We joke about needing to “roll home”, accept the food coma as part of the experience and plan to “eat lighter tomorrow”. And then we repeat it.

Not everything that’s normal is neutral

Normal doesn’t always mean harmless.

When overeating becomes expected, we stop noticing it. When it’s tied to celebration, questioning it feels joyless. But discomfort doesn’t disappear just because it’s common.

The Sunnah doesn’t ask us to strip joy from the table. It asks us to restore balance. And balance is often quieter than we expect.

Maybe the question isn’t “how much”, but “why”

Why does a table need to look a certain way to feel acceptable?
Why does “enough” feel like “not enough”?
Why does restraint feel awkward, even in religious spaces?

These aren’t questions with quick answers.

But they are worth asking, especially if we believe that the way we eat is connected to the way we live.

Sometimes reflection is the most honest place to start.