By Roz Hartley
Slightly concerned by the number of fast-food bags I was finding in the footwell of my son’s
car, I gave him a mildly passive-aggressive present in his stocking: The Sunday Times
bestseller, “Ultra-Processed People” by Chris van Tulleken.
I hoped he might dive straight in on Boxing Day, learn how the fast-food industry is
manipulating us all and start shopping at the local farm shop instead. I thought that the little
bio picture of the author, who used to present one of his favourite children’s programmes
(Operation Ouch! which explored the weirdest and most wonderful bits of medicine from
sneezes and snot to pimples and poo) might lure him in. I was rather naïve. It didn’t and the
book sat on his desk for 3 weeks, gathering dust and empty coke cans.
My son has now gone back to university and the book didn’t accompany him. He didn’t even
pretend that he was going to read it….so I am.
Well! I’m only two thirds of the way through it but I have already cleared out the “sauce”
shelf of my fridge and stopped buying cheap ice-cream. Van Tulleken believes people will
change how they eat by reading his book, that we’ll be disgusted enough to voluntarily give
up ultra-processed food for good. I have to say that it’s working on me already.
My daughter rolls her eyes now when she sees me reading it. She fears that the contents of
the snack cupboard are about to be thrown in the bin and she may well be right.
Last night, we were in a horrible bargain shop looking for a sports’ bag when we both had a
fit of the munchies so we turned to the snack aisle. I said I would buy us a snack if we could
find one that had no additives, emulsifiers, e-numbers or modified anything in it.
I put my glasses on and started analysing the labels. My daughter settled in to reading the
small print and becoming more and more deflated as her favourites were deemed inappropriate by her annoying mother. We found ONE snack that fitted the brief – a bag of
whole monkey nuts in their shells for the excellent price of 99p and that is what we bought.
Back in the car, she then had the job of shelling them and feeding them to me as we headed
to the next shop to find the elusive sports’ bag.
The car, this morning, looks like a threshing machine has exploded on the upholstery and
I’m not sure the monkey nuts will be a go-to for my daughter. I suspect snack-buying will
now become a private, secretive affair that I am no longer invited to.
My food shopping may take a little longer as I double check the labels on things that I
assumed were healthy. My trips to local farm shops will become more frequent as I trust in
the provenance of their vegetables and meat. My dinners might take a little more thought
and pre-planning but my body will thank me. And my son? He’ll be reading this book when
he comes home at Easter… otherwise the Easter bunny will only bring him carrots.
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