If you were a child between 1970 and 1990, you grew up standing right on the hinge, and you can remember both sides of it.
You remember the cream sitting at the top of the milk, the liver on a Thursday, the dripping set hard in the chip pan, the joint that quietly fed a week, the egg they put on a poster and told you to go to work on. And you remember the slow business of it all being taken away, food by food, each one with a minister or a doctor or a laughing tin Martian on hand to explain why the old way had been a mistake.
You were told it was progress. You were told the science was settled and the matter closed. You were told, in so many words, that your grandmother's kitchen was a health hazard and the future arrived in a packet.
Some of it truly was progress. A great deal of it was not. And the quiet, awkward thing that nobody in charge much wants to say out loud is that the people who grew up on the old food, before the swap, are not, on the whole, the ones turning up in the clinics youngest and in the worst repair.
You do not have to take all of it back. But you saw both menus with your own eyes, and you are among the last people alive who did. You remember what real food was, because you ate it before they renamed it a risk. Most people now have only ever known the packet.
Tell them what the other menu tasted like.
If science were never to be questioned, your doctor would still be recommending a particular brand of cigarette to settle the nerves.
You'd be dosing the baby with heroin cough syrup, because Bayer sold it over the counter.
You'd be rubbing cocaine on its gums for teething, and the chemist would recommend the stronger tube.
The DDT lorry would still come round to fog the street while the children carried on playing in the spray.
Your surgeon would be reaching for the icepick, because the man who pioneered the lobotomy was given a Nobel Prize for it.
Pregnant women would be handed thalidomide for their morning sickness, with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
You'd be drinking radium tonic for your energy and brushing with radioactive toothpaste for the glow.
Stomach ulcers would still be filed under "stress," and the man who proved they were bacterial would still be a laughing stock.
Butter would be the villain and margarine the heart-healthy hero, on the firmest medical advice going.
Lead would still be in your petrol, your paint and your water pipes, certified harmless by the people selling it.
All of it, in its day, was the consensus. Settled. Beyond polite debate.
"Settled science" is the phrase people reach for when they would quite like you to stop asking questions.
@Jirikis1 Lekker dankbaar, een nieuw apparaat op een schimmelend doekje zetten... sigarettenfilter ervoor??
De reden dat ik dit soort apparaten nooit op Marktplaats koop, mensen zoals jij zonder hygienisch besef. Misschien ben je wel ziek van al die schimmel en etensresten op je aanrecht.
Waar Khadija Arib in haar verhoor niet naar gevraagd werd: "mag ik nog 1 opmerking maken als het kan?'
Parlementaire Enquêtecommissie Corona
"De nadruk ligt op lessen trekken, prima, maar ik mis de nadruk op waarheidsvinding en verantwoording afleggen". 💯
Your doctor spent around twenty hours learning about nutrition across their entire medical degree. That's the average. Many got less. A fair few got none at all.
Twenty hours. Here's what else takes about that long, or longer:
- Finishing a box set you'll later admit you didn't really follow
- Assembling enough flat-pack furniture to fill one room
- Getting a sourdough starter going properly
- A single long-haul flight, before you've even turned around to come back
- Reading one decent-sized novel at a leisurely pace
- Breaking in a stiff pair of leather boots
- Knitting a jumper for someone who won't appreciate it
So when this person glances at your bloods, frowns at the butter, and recommends a spread invented in a factory, understand the depth of study behind the verdict. You are not receiving the considered conclusion of nutritional science. You are receiving something that fit into less time than it takes to read a novel.
The expertise is real. The surgery, the diagnostics, the pharmacology, all of it hard-won over years, and worth your respect. The nutrition bit just turned up in an afternoon, pre-packaged, sometime around 1977, and nobody's opened the box since.
Take the medicine seriously. Take the dietary advice with the confidence it earned in those twenty hours.
Brown rice is what you order when you want the waiter to know you have made peace with joylessness in exchange for health points. The arsenic is the twist nobody puts on the menu.
Rice has a problem unique among grains. It grows in flooded paddies, sitting in standing water for months, and it draws arsenic out of the soil roughly ten times more eagerly than wheat or barley. That arsenic concentrates in the bran, the grain's outer layer. White rice has the bran polished off. Brown rice keeps it, because the bran is where the fibre and minerals live. It is also, inconveniently, where the arsenic lives.
A 2025 analysis found brown rice carries around 24% more total arsenic and 40% more inorganic arsenic, the form classed as a known human carcinogen, than white. You upgraded to the wholegrain and quietly upgraded your carcinogen dose along with it.
Then the ecology, which nobody ever pins on rice, because rice looks so very innocent. Those flooded paddies are anaerobic, and the microbes thriving in them belch methane on an industrial scale. Rice cultivation produces something like 10% of all human methane emissions and roughly a fifth of agricultural methane. Cattle get filmed for documentaries about their burps. Rice quietly produces a tenth of the world's methane while flooding entire landscapes and hoarding arsenic, then takes its place in the salad bar wearing a wellness halo.
Cows are dragged through the climate courts every week. The rice paddy, doing serious damage of its own, sits in your grain bowl with the expression of something that has never done anything wrong in its life. Curious, isn't it, which foods we decide to interrogate.
According to mainstream health advice:
- Red meat causes cancer
- Processed meat causes cancer
- Grilled food causes cancer
- Smoked food causes cancer
- Salted food causes cancer
- Nitrates cause cancer
- Haem iron causes cancer
Yet:
Populations eating primarily red meat (Mongols, Maasai, Inuit) had essentially no cancer until Western contact.
Populations eating processed, smoked, and salted meat for millennia (Scandinavia, Eastern Europe) had low cancer rates.
Cancer rates exploded after 1950, as red meat consumption fell and processed food consumption climbed.
Either every human who ate meat for 2.5 million years was quietly riddled with cancer (they weren't, we have the bones), or something introduced after 1950 is the actual culprit and meat is taking the blame because it's easier than implicating the seed oil, sugar, and processed food industries.
When everything "causes cancer" according to epidemiology, nothing specifically causes cancer. The associations are correlation in fancy dress.
If red meat caused cancer, the populations eating the most of it would have the most cancer.
They had the least.
The populations eating the least red meat and the most processed food have the most.
Blame the meat. Protect the industry.
Follow the money. The trail leads to the same address it always does.
There is an animal that:
- Walks to her own food on her own legs
- Eats grass humans cannot digest
- Drinks rainwater that falls whether she's there or not
- Needs no pesticide, herbicide, irrigation, factory, or refinery
- Builds topsoil 30 to 50 times faster than nature
- Fertilises the ground that grew her dinner
- Supports dozens of wildflower, insect, and bird species
- Reproduces herself once a year, free of charge
- Produces meat, milk, butter, cheese, cream, leather, tallow, suet, bone, and broth
- Delivers complete protein, every fat-soluble vitamin, haem iron, B12, zinc, and choline
- Has done all of this, on the same hillsides, for ten thousand years
- Runs on sunlight
And we have spent thirty years being told this animal is the problem.
The fermentation tank in Singapore, drawing power from a fossil fuel grid, fed on monoculture soy from a deforested Brazilian plain, producing a beige paste with twenty-two ingredients, is the solution.
The audacity is breathtaking.
I don't want Bovaer in my milk.
I don't want folic acid in my flour.
I don't want fluorine in my drinking water.
I don't want palm oil in my chocolate.
I don't want margarine in my cakes.
I don't want my fruit and veg sprayed with glyphosate.
I don't want my apples coated with Apeel.
I don't want my fish and chips cooked in veg oil.
I don't want crappy processed mayo on my burger.
I don't want roast spuds out of a freezer.
I don't want non-grass-fed beef.
I don't want farmed salmon.
I don't want GMO garbage.
... so I don't consume any of these products.
How sad we allow clowns to fcuk around with our food and drink in this way though. 🤦♂️
@mic25564@DutchConserv83 Wetten zijn door mensen bedacht... Als er meer leed van komt dan dat het oplevert, dan moet de wet misschien aangepast worden.