EATING FOR A BETTER BOTTOM
Theodore Dalrymple deplores
doctors who stop us from over-indulging
IN THE absence of a belief in the afterlife, staying alive a little longer assumes tran- scendent importance. That is why present- day hypochondriasis is, fundamentally, a religious phenomenon. The stages of an exercise programme are the modern equiv- alents of the Stations of the Cross, and the search for the perfect diet is the new form of the quest for the Holy Grail.
Consider the World Health Organisa- tion's definition of health: not merely the absence of disease, but the presence of complete physical, social and psychological well-being. What goal, then, could be more transcendental, less susceptible of earthly attainment, than health? There is no dan- ger here of the priesthood ever becoming redundant.
It isn't only health that people demand these days from their doctors, but beauty. The ancient proverb about silk purses and sows' ears is not much in favour. Ladies who have been fat for 40 years still seek slenderness with all the avidity of a medi- aeval alchemist. How else can one explain the phenomenal success of a book entitled The Hip and Thigh Diet? In my condition of genteel poverty, I have often considered improving my financial position by writing The Breast and Buttock Diet.
The formula for a successful diet book is clear to me: one must inconvenience peo- ple, but not too much. I had an aunt who, having struggled unsuccessfully against obesity all her life, came to the conclusion that the important thing where food and fatness were concerned was not how much she ate, but at what time of the day she ate it. She loved pasta; and finding a restau- rant to serve spaghetti alla carbonara or fettucini al pesto at 11 o'clock in the morn- ing was meritoriously difficult, but not impossible. She would then demolish a large plateful secure in the knowledge that it would have no anabolic consequences whatsoever.
She was also convinced — if her behaviour was anything to go by — that if she ate something out of sight of anyone else, it did not count. This, it seems to me, would be a splendid principle for a new diet: I think I would throw in that eating in the dark also exerted a slimming effect. I
should concoct a little 'scientific' evidence for my idea without fear of exposure as a fraud: credulity (like fraud itself) springs eternal. I might even invent a special dietary cupboard, in which fat ladies could eat cream cakes without guilt. By the time they had all put on two stones in weight, I should be a rich man.
All flesh is grass, of course: we are what we eat, which perhaps explains some of the less attractive characteristics of our fellow-countrymen. I had a cousin who once tried to convert me to vegetarianism using the argument that one inevitably took on the attributes of the animal whose flesh one ate: beef made one bovine, pork porcine, lamb ovine, and so forth. I asked him what effect, on his theory, eating cab- bage would have upon one's character, but he changed the subject. Since then, he has tried a variety of cults and religions, and has made a great deal of money from property.
I don't suppose the search for the per- fect, health-and-beauty-giving diet will ever cease. Since Pythagoras first vehe- mently enjoined his followers to refrain from eating beans, doctors have taken immense pleasure in forbidding their patients certain foods, especially those they particularly crave. (Pythagoras's pro- hibition was more rational than most, of course: he knew all about favism, a form of anaemia brought about when people with an hereditary deficiency of an enzyme — glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase eat beans, a deficiency common among 'I invested the gold in a really good pension.' the inhabitants of the Mediterranean basin.) How delicious it is to deny people their pleasures, and how deep-seated is the puri- tanical belief that it is our pleasures which lead to ill-health! In our brave new world of preventive medicine, Cicero's dictum that no one is so old that he believes he cannot live another year will have to be amended slightly: no one is so old that he should not change his habits for the sake of his health.
A colleague of mine who runs a hyper - cholesterolaemia clinic told me that last week a 91-year-old lady was referred to him because she had high blood cholesterol levels. Naturally, he gave her a severe tick- ing-off, and told her that if she did not change her ways, she would not live to be more than 98.
Luckily for doctors and patients, there is an infinite amount of denying and self- denying still to be done. Once smoking is entirely a vice of the past, we shall turn our attention to eggs, cheese, butter, salt, caf- feine, alcohol, tannin, nitrates, milk, chlo- rine, additives, colourings, fluoride, sausages, lead, chocolate, cream, smoked fish, refined flour, sugar both white and brown, soft water, aluminium, calcium, potato crisps, sunflower oil, monosodium glutamate, copper, selenium, potassium and other substances too numerous to mention. Diet is the new left bank of the Borioboola-Gha.
Not everyone would agree that a healthy diet is a good thing, however. The great philosopher and pan-European authority on social welfare, M. Jacques Attali, chair- man of the bank for dispensing favours to ex-communists in Eastern Europe, recently said that it was a pity people live so long, because after the age of 60 they didn't pro- duce much. Life unworthy of life — to paraphrase slightly — was placing a great burden on all our economies.
So Professor Sir Raymond Hoffenberg (who once suggested that smokers willed their own diseases, and therefore should pay for their treatment) has got it wrong after all! It is not people with unhealthy habits who should be made to pay for their treatment, but those who have signally failed to consume enough tobacco, alcohol and cream, and who thus selfishly live beyond the age of economic utility. Eating the wrong foods, growing fat, abjuring exercise, smoking and drinking to excess have thus become positive social duties.
I knew there had to be some benefit from closer European union. A Merry Maastricht to all my readers!
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