A pet that eatswhat you eat.
Drawn by AI from your words. It tastes what you log, keeps a diary and decorates its room — and food never harms it.
Say it once. It remembers every time.
Tell your pet in your own words what you'd like done — and it keeps its word without being asked again. An errand starts by the clock, after a meal you log or before you get hungry, and does only what you allowed.
Beer? Then water. Every time.
Our founder's own errand. The pet waits for a meal with beer, and five minutes after its last dish asks for a glass of water. After any other meal it stays quiet.
After a meal without beer — not a word.
How it works
In the chat with your pet, the way you'd ask a friend. Regular things — every Sunday, after beer, before lunch.
The pet offers an errand card: when, what and where. Nothing is handed over until you tap.
At the right moment the pet looks at your diary and acts — and you see what it did, with Undo.
What people hand over
After a meal“When I log beer, remind me about water”
A reminder five minutes after the meal — only when there was beer in it.
By the clock“Every Sunday, make our shopping list for the week”
Posted into the family chat — onto this week's open list, or a new one.
Before hunger“Before I get hungry, suggest a snack from what's at home”
Twenty minutes before your day's forecast says hunger is due.
By the clock“If I haven't logged lunch by two, nudge me”
It looks at the diary first and stays quiet when there's nothing to say.
By the clock“On Friday evening, give me a recipe from what's in the fridge”
A recipe card that opens straight into cooking mode.
By the clock“On Monday morning, plan my meals for the week”
A meal plan as a card. Nothing goes into the diary until you tap.
By the clock“Every Monday at eight, remind me to weigh in”
A weigh-in card: type the number and it's in your history.
By the clock“On my injection day, remind me about protein at breakfast”
It knows your GLP-1 schedule — it lives on your phone.
After a meal“An hour after pizza, ask me how I feel”
“An hour after” becomes a reminder, timed from the meal itself.
A pet that helps
Talk to your pet: it looks at your diary, remembers, and offers cards — log a dish, set a reminder, plan meals, put a shopping list in the family chat. Nothing happens until you tap. Ask for something regular, and it does the errand by itself.
Your own pet at your table.
Describe it or show a photo of your real one — foodoo draws it, and it moves in. It tastes what you log, teases you in its own voice and wishes for something tasty every day. Tell it once — “after beer, remind me about water” — and it does it every time by itself.
Describe it. Or show a photo.
A ginger cat, a corgi, a baby dragon — anything but people. Every pet is drawn from scratch, so no two are alike.
A wish every day
Instead of advice, your pet asks for something — based on what you actually eat. Log anything like it and the wish comes true.
I'd love something crunchy and green today.
Eight characters
Your pet comments on your meals in the character you pick. The food takes the hits — never you. Now and then a comment arrives as a voice message. The text is always one tap away.
“A whole pizza! I sat by the box the entire time, in case a slice got lonely 🍕”
Water is all it needs
Food never harms your pet: no hunger, no illness, no guilt. It just gets a little thirsty — and one glass fixes that.
A bond that grows
Every granted wish brings you closer — from acquaintance to family.
It grows up. And dresses up.
A couple of weeks in, your pet grows up — and what it becomes depends on how you eat: a sprout for a greens lover, a sporty headband for a protein fan. For Halloween and Christmas it dresses up by itself.
“This is how you drew me. Not bad, I'd say.”
A home that furnishes itself
Things turn up by themselves: a souvenir of a cuisine you tried for the first time, a toy for wishes granted, tulips in spring, a gift from a friend's pet. Nothing is bought, and nothing is ever taken away.
Things that come alive
Wax drifts in the lava lamp, fish swim in the bowl, snow falls in the globe, the stove crackles. Tap a thing and it answers.
It keeps a diary
Each week your pet writes a page about what you ate together — in its own voice, without a single number about nutrition.
Dear diary, a bowl of ramen came to our table this week. I guarded it down to the last noodle. Nobody thanked me, but I know what I did.
Three of my wishes came true — a record, I think.
A book of your year
Your pet gathers your time together into a book: the dishes you came back to, everything tried for the first time, souvenirs from the kitchens of the world and lines from its diary.
Days we sat down to eat together: 212. Different dishes on our table: 348.
Wishes you granted me: 64.
Ramen with egg
Avocado & Poached Egg Toast
Greek Yogurt, Berries & Almonds
More in foodoo
Change something. Or nothing.
Either way, you'll know what you eat.
