SCIENTISTS have proved, once again, that fried food is bad for you.
By my reckoning, that’s 189th time this year – and probably about the 27th time this week.
The latest study reveals that a chemical produced when food is roasted, fried or browned can cause cancer.
Well thanks for that. There is now no food or drink on the planet that cannot in some way lead to cancer, heart failure or an irritable bowel.
In much the same way as most scientific food research cannot in some way lead to anger, frustration and an irritated brain.
These new findings have proved a minor headache in our house because our two boys appear to be enjoying a growth spurt and are Hoovering up everything edible in sight.
Only yesterday morning I found myself rustling up a breakfast which, if the scientists are to be believed, should not only be accompanied by salt, pepper and tomato sauce, but also a cardiac arrest crash team.
Our pair, aged 10 and 13, devoured a breakfast of toasted bagels lathered in cream cheese, two buttered toasts and a bowlful of scrambled eggs, and all washed down with a half pint of milk.
I awaited the compliments. Silence. “Thanks dad, you’re a star,” I said.
Isaac, 10, looked up from his plate. “Ah yeah, thanks dad,” he reluctantly acknowledged. “Can I have a packet of crisps?”
The following day I discovered, courtesy of the European Food Safety Authority (EFSA), that toast, crisps and even coffee can contain the chemical acrylamide – a known cause of cancer.
Hats off to the researchers. Another successful extraction of pleasure from eating achieved. Do they get a gold star or just an extra helping of unsalted celery and couscous in distilled water soup from the EFSA canteen?
If the EFSA is to be believed, the healthiest part of the breakfast I served the boys was the plate!
WITH most foods being proven killers, it perhaps explains this rather odd job description for a sous chef spotted in the paper.
It read: “Sous chef: £14,000. Candidates must be able to stand, sit, or walk for an extended period of time or for an entire work shift, reaching overhead and below the knees, including bending, twisting, pulling, and stooping.”
No mention of cooking skills or food appreciation … presumably because that stuff just kills the customer in the end.
Though, judging by the description, for the modern chef a working knowledge of Zumba is essential.
THE boys bought me some aftershave for Father’s Day, which, to keep them happy, I’ve been applying liberally each morning.
I’m not one for aftershave. It is, after all, just perfume by another name.
As you might expect, being a gift from the boys, it’s not one of those expensive designer fragrances advertised by a half-naked and heavily tattooed muscleman stomping around an ethereal sports stadium smashing living statues with a click of his finger (as you do). No, my aftershave is from Boots the Chemist.
Bay Rum it’s called. Still, it impressed my wife. “Bay Rum,” she said, nodding her head, before adding: “Bay Root, more like.” (Beirut, geddit?)
The secret of a long marriage? Laughter. I’ll let you know when it starts.