One of the perils of living in the USA is a constant barrage of food fads and diets. Diets to make you more beautiful, more slim, more healthy, more fit, more energy, more sexy, more intelligent, more wealthy ( actually, I lied about the last one, but the rest is true), and generally a better person. Food as medicine is not a new concept, as anyone who has studied Ayurvedic healing will have noticed, but you can’t buy anything here these days without a claim to better health.
So it is in this climate of evangelism that I have eventually given in to requests from my lovely wife to join her on her quest for all of the above listed benefits. I’ve managed to skirt round this for years, on the basis that I don’t eat junk or processed foods, I cook everything from scratch, and we grow or buy locally most of our fresh produce.
However, the double chin and the protruding waistline sort of contradict this belief, so I don’t have a leg to stand on.
There is link to a local news story that started it all.
It all sounds miraculous and easy peasy, until you get to the bit that describes what you can eat
“When students take the five-week class, Abascal recommends eliminating for three weeks the most commonly inflammatory foods: all dairy products, sugars, wheat, red meat, pork, alcohol and peanuts. Instead of those foods, students are encouraged to eat anti-inflammatory foods, such as fruits and vegetables, whole grains, proteins from beans and soy, seafood, chicken, eggs, seeds and nuts. She recommends people eat five times a day, with fruits and vegetables generally making up two-thirds of each meal or snack and protein and grains making up no more than one-third.”
She does go on to say that you can start adding these things back in slowly after 3 weeks (if you haven’t put yourself out of your misery by then), and then monitor for any negative effects. Here’s the rub. What if I found out that the wine I consume is the villain. What if I found out that the cheese I eat (What, no cheese Grommit) was causing the pains in my fingers. AND what if my Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding Sunday dinners were the cause of my lack of energy. You get the drift here?
I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to live life without these little pleasures.
They are simple pleasures that I look forward to.
Forgive me if I sound a bit hysterical here, but I have never, will never look forward to a plate of eggs, seeds and nuts.
The chicken food is starting to look appetizing, which is a bad sign, but I promised to give it a go. So, if you happen to pass a grown man sobbing his heart out in the street with a hungry look in his eye, spare a thought.