There is something faintly absurd about it. Millions of people, voluntarily watching another person brown mince in a frying pan. No tasting, no smells, no dinner at the end of it. Just the gentle sizzle, a wooden spoon, and someone narrating like they have reinvented food itself. And yet, here some of us are, watching again…
So what is going on?
First, the onion question, because it has been bothering you and frankly deserves a proper answer. When you chop an onion, you break its cells. This releases an enzyme that reacts with sulphur compounds inside the onion to form a gas called syn-Propanethial-S-oxide. That gas drifts up into your eyes, reacts with the moisture there, and forms a mild acid. Your eyes respond by producing tears to wash it away. That is why you cry. That is also why it feels suspicious when online cooks dice onions at speed without so much as a blink. Either they are using very fresh knives, good ventilation, or they have simply edited out the watery-eyed reality.
Back to the mince.
Watching people cook taps into something deeply familiar and oddly comforting. It mirrors a behaviour many people experienced growing up, standing in a kitchen while someone else prepared food. That space was rarely about the food alone. It was about routine, safety, and a sense that things were under control. Even if someone did not have that exact experience, the idea of it still carries weight. A warm kitchen, a steady process, something predictable. In a world that often feels chaotic, watching someone calmly fry mince becomes a small pocket of order.
There is also the psychology of low-stakes engagement. Cooking videos are easy to follow, require no commitment, and offer a sense of completion. The mince starts raw, it browns, seasoning goes in, job done. Your brain gets a neat beginning, middle, and end without any effort. It is the same reason people enjoy time-lapse videos or oddly satisfying clips. There is a quiet reward in watching a process which completes.
Then there is performance; nuch of this content is not really about cooking, it is about presentation. Clean kitchens, controlled lighting, confident hands, and a tone that suggests effortless competence. Even the simplest act, like frying mince, becomes a performance of capability. People are not just watching food being made. They are watching someone appear skilled, calm, and in control. That has its own appeal I guess?
Now consider how this might land with professional chefs – which is more complicated. On one hand, there is likely some quiet frustration. Years of training, precision, and hard-earned technique reduced to an algorithm favouring someone stirring mince while explaining what salt is. On the other hand, some chefs rmay feel that this content is not competing with them, but sitting in a different category entirely; just entertainment dressed as cooking – think Love Island without the micro bikinis and pulsing pecs. Real chefs operate in a world of timing, pressure, and consistency that does not translate neatly into a one-minute clip. So while there may be some eye-rolling, there is also a clear distinction.
The final piece is one I will leave you with: is this form of digital viewing popular because people no longer grew up watching someone cook at home? In some cases, I guess yes because of changes in lifestyle, longer working hours, and the rise of convenience food have reduced those shared kitchen moments. For some viewers, these videos may fill a gap. They offer a version of that experience, even if it is filtered, edited, and oddly free of onion-induced tears.
But it is not only about absence because it’s possible that even people who did grow up in kitchens still watch which suggests that for them, it is less about replacing a lost experience and more about recreating a feeling. Familiarity, calm, and the quiet satisfaction of watching something unfold properly.
So the next time you find yourself watching someone fry mince for the fourth time in a week, you are not losing the plot. You are engaging with a small, structured, strangely soothing ritual. Even if the onions look suspiciously tear-free.
