Polly Vernon has her say
A MONTH AGO, I went to see a nutritionist. It was a work thing – by which I mean, the consequence of my thinking ‘Yeah, feck it, why not?’ about an invite to meet Sonia Wahlroos, the Nordic Nutritionist, as opposed to: me, finally realising a long-standing personal ambition to heal my innards, and (by extension) outtards, via the medium of food. Truth is: I’m not bothered by food. I’m a disastrous cook who finds modern tendencies to fetishise food (shudder rapturously on placing some morsel upon your tongue, brag about how you went to the soft opening of this ah-ma-zing secret new restaurant, Instagram your sandwich) odd, going-on gross. I think of food as a necessary… Oh, ‘evil’ is probably overstating it – but ‘boring’ seems fair. Food. A necessary boring.
It is in this spirit that I see Sonia, who immediately impresses me by being beautiful (I think it’s just sensible to take lifestyle advice from beautiful people), listens while I describe my daily food intake, gently suggests my sporadically inferior digestive experience could be connected to a criminal under-consumption of veg, then tells me she’ll come up with a personalised eating plan for me. It arrives: a complex 19-page doc which blows my tiny, malnourished mind. Sonia talks me through it; promises me better digestion and sleep, level mood, less anxiety. I nod and think: I’m never gonna do this.
But then, most unexpectedly, I do. Without even trying that hard. Definitely without meaning to. But it’s all you need sometimes, eh? An expert going: more cauliflower, less Rocky Road, you muppet.
So: I minimise refined carbs. I maximise veg. I juice. I swerve cheese. I learn that organic houmous is a rewarding snacklet, and goes well with a handful of blueberries. I start to view food as potential medicine, but also: potential poison.
Yup. I’m one of them idiots now.
Oh, but I feel amazing! Tediously, predictably, billion-dollars-y, amazing! Operationally slick, glitch-free: like my cache has been cleared and I’ve been rebooted. Like I’ve been caught in an electrical storm that accidentally gave me super powers, and those powers are: sleep, digestion and diminished anxiety!
Will I sustain it? No idea. Maybe! But also, let’s be honest: maybe not. It’s all very expensive when you can’t cook, won’t cook – I’ve dropped my life’s saving in Whole Foods already – but that isn’t even my biggest problem. My biggest problem is denying my urge for casual acts of everyday nihilism. Quashing my compulsion to just (quietly, minimally, repeatedly) do the wrong thing. To eat a brownie and call it lunch (same thing, calories-wise, innit?). Pop a can of diet fizziness, just because I’m bored.
Choosing good, right and balanced, over not, every damn time you eat? That isn’t just a lifestyle change. That is a personality change.