Despite Hahnemann’s love of vegetables, not everything she cooks and eats would be defined by a nutritionist as strictly ‘healthy’. Like most Danes, she adores cake and always keeps a sponge cake in her freezer in case friends drop by and she wants to rustle up a quick rhubarb and chocolate layer cake, filled with a rich rhubarb cream and topped with chocolate ganache. ‘Life without cakes would be a bit too sinister,’ Hahnemann writes in one of her cookbooks, adding that she believes cake to be good for mental health. Just as the Japanese-style diet eaten by Fumiaki Imamura is a mix of ‘healthy’ and ‘unhealthy’, so is the modern Danish diet. But the balance, in both cases, is tipped towards the healthy.67
Not every country can be like Denmark, which benefits from a tiny population, substantial wealth and low levels of social inequality. It would be difficult to replicate exactly the way that the Danes eat anywhere else. The question, however, is whether other countries could shift to a phase where the typical diet is abundant but no longer damages the health of millions.
There are small but growing signs that many people around the world are moving in something like a Danish direction with food. Fumiaki Imamura’s data shows that the quantity of healthy food being eaten in the more affluent countries of the world – in Europe, North America and Australasia – is actually going up, while consumption of unhealthy foods slowly starts to level off. This chimes with the behaviour around food we can observe all around us, with many consumers consciously reacting against what they see as a toxic food supply and searching for new ways of eating. Who would ever have predicted the day when kale and beetroot would become objects of affection in the West? Food preferences can change in a remarkably short space of time.
The hope held out by stage five is that the two stories of modern food could merge into one, single story: a cheerier and more consistent one. We abolish hunger, eat our greens, make water the default drink, discover delicious things like houmous, have the occasional slice of cake for our mental health and live happily ever after. With the right food policies – which would include a combination of different farming policies, better food education and tighter regulation of unhealthy foods and drinks – we might yet reach stage five. For this to happen, governments would have to reset the trajectory of food policy away from the post-war agenda of quantity at all costs. There are tiny signs that this is happening, for example in the sugar taxes that have been enacted in various countries, but the true potential of food policy to improve our diet has yet to be tested. As the authors of one briefing paper on future diets from 2014 remarked, ‘policies on diets have been so timid to date that we simply do not know what might be achieved by a determined drive to reduce the consumption of calories, and particularly the consumption of fat, salt and sugar’.68
In the meantime, for those of us still in the middle of stage four, it can be hard to know how to live and eat for the best. We are beset on all sides by extremes – from fad diets on the one hand to junk food on the other – and it can feel almost impossible to steer our own path through the madness and choose a variety of foods that give us both pleasure and health.
It would be a start if we could at least name the food in front of us and notice what it is that we are putting in our mouths. Half the time, we do not even seem to recognise the ways in which our food has changed.
Colin Khoury, the diversity expert who identified the Global Standard Diet, told me about a dinner table game he plays at his home in Denver. Khoury lives with his wife and disabled brother and all three play the game every evening when they eat. It’s a kind of secular grace. Before taking the first mouthful, the three of them compete to name the species and botanical family of all the foods they are about to eat. In Latin. If they are eating burritos, for example, one of the Khourys might start by saying thanks for Triticum aestivum (wheat, in the tortilla), in the grass family (Poaceae). Then another person another might say, ‘Persea americana, avocado, in the laurel family (Lauraceae).’ They keep going until no one at the table can name any more ingredients. And then, the three of them eat. ‘It’s kind of a silly exercise,’ says Khoury, ‘but for me it’s a chance to pull it apart enough to be recognisant of what’s in a meal.’ Khoury’s dinner table game is a small but eloquent gesture against a world converging on the same unbalanced diet.
Personally, my Latin is not good enough to play this game. But I like Khoury’s idea of picking apart the components of food on a plate as a way of paying attention to what you are actually eating. This is what omnivores have always done: we look at a range of items and say ‘this is edible’ and ‘this isn’t’. None of us can escape living and eating in the global market of stage four. You can’t increase the variety of your daily food intake simply by naming it. But if we are going to tip the balance of our diets back in a better direction, it helps if you can at least say what it is that you are eating.
One of the problems with modern eating is that we stopped trusting our own senses to tell us what to eat. We may not be hunter-gatherers, nor even farmers. But every human is still an eater, and we still have senses that can tell us useful things about what to put in our mouths, if only we pay attention. You are under no obligation to eat something just because a packet tells you it is ‘all-natural’ or ‘protein-boosted’ or supposedly marvellous in some other way. Despite all the transformations of stage four, some things remain constant in our eating lives. Food is only food when a human says it is, and that human is you.
‘Sometimes we need to step backwards.’ Thus begins one of the many voices on the internet suggesting that our eating would be healthier and happier if only we could travel in time and eat a bit more like our great-grandmothers. This particular article – from the Institute for the Psychology of Eating – goes on to recommend ‘ancestral eating’ as the solution to many of the health problems of modern times.
What, you may ask, is ancestral eating? Apparently, it means sticking as closely as possible to the diet of your great-grandparents, wherever they happen to have lived. If your ancestors came from Greece, ancestral eating might entail full-fat yoghurt, wild greens, grass-fed meat and olive oil; if your family came from Japan, it might include fish, seaweed, fermented vegetables and ‘heirloom’ grains.1
Nostalgia for the tastes of our childhood has always been a powerful emotion. In our modern food environment, many of us invoke the wisdom of our grandparents as a way out of the craziness and ill health of modern diets. The inspiration for much of this way of thinking comes from the food writer Michael Pollan, who memorably advised that a good rule of thumb for healthy eating was ‘Don’t eat anything your great-grandmother wouldn’t recognise as food.’
The urge to turn back the clock on modern diets is understandable. So many aspects of our diets have worsened in recent decades. In all regions and in all countries, diets rich in coarse grains, legumes and other vegetables are disappearing as a mainstream way of eating and, as we saw in Chapter 1, there has been a great loss of biodiversity. It’s true that almost anyone in the modern world would be nutritionally better off eating more olive oil, more vegetables, more fish, more lentils, more wholegrains.2
Yet there are significant problems with thinking that the solution to poor diets is to go backwards. For one thing, our great-grandmothers often suffered СКАЧАТЬ