The Magic Pill

Pete Evans has again copped a shitload of flack from the medical industry. This time for his latest doco Magic Pill on Netflix. For goodness sake! What? We’re not capable of working it out? Of forming our own opinions?

A friend (still) of decades, Adam Osborne, was the secret-giver to the gate of enlightenment. See, Adam is a doctor and I trained him at the gym under the Old Norco Building in Byron Bay, back when Fairlie was still alive (that story is in my memoir, bitch, when dying and in a coma, spoke through me. Go bite yourselves, those of you who think being psychic is fun!)

adam osborne
(Adam, photo Byron Healing Listings)

Doctors train for approximately 7 years. 40 hours of those 7 years will slick over nutrition. Even then, most are not interested. Adam couldn’t work out why he was weedy and pasty, with all that training. Of course he’s gorgeous now!

Multiply him by EVERY DOCTOR MOST OF YOU HAVE EVER BEEN TO. If you are big, they will suggest you diet. None of them give you a plan. If you re sent to a dietitian… what’s that puppy going to cost you? Weight Watchers makes its money by keeping you buying their products. You are not TAUGHT. You are not loved enough.

So watch it. We decide for ourselves, moronic, biased media!

I don’t think I’d eat bread again even if I was starving.

food_pyramid_small

Oh, and today…? The queen of the current-day England? Rotten with wealth at the expense of the people? Like the catholic church, they are. So today, in Australia, a fucking colony pretending to be a country, a public holiday was declared to help celebrate her birthday. While other people received knighthoods and order of Australia medals (medals! Pfft), yours truly had an outstanding colonic.

Bon apetit,
Ly x

 

 

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The Smell of Sickness

bog_of_eternal_stench

The human sense of smell is often seen as insignificant, dismissed as a distant also-ran to our keen eyesight or sensitive hearing. But this sense is keener and more influential on our species than many people realize. (“The Hidden Power of Scent” by Josie Glausiusz, in Scientific American Mind, August/September 2008:38)

 

I decided on a little adventure! I was excited enough to be up at the same time as the ravens, and into a bowl of ground nuts with a handful of walnuts, a dob of raw sheep yogurt and a glass of home-brewed Illy coffee. Then I was away.

Blissfully unaware that I was to have a shocker of a realization before the early part of the afternoon. People! I’m a dog in a human body!

Okay, let me explain. I drove for 2 hours this morning for the Portarlington Celtic Festival. I got myself lost (that happens a LOT) so I didn’t arrive in town until I was ravenous. The air was clean, the sea, oh, the tang of the sea right up from the deep of the ocean. A short boat trip away from Tasmania, New Zealand and, really, the great Antarctic! Me? Straight to a cafe for eggs and coffee. That was fine. So far, I’m excited…

And everything’s fine.

I cross the road to the park. The major gathering of clans performers, market stalls and food vans. Festive. Bagpipes. Kilts!

I wandered, studying the stalls for something magically Celtic to spend my money on, perfectly prepared to go home penniless. There was nothing. Nothing extraordinary. I wandered and I listened to the pipers but could not get a signal on my measly old iPhone 4 so I have nothing to show you of any of it… besides, I’m just starting to get weird.

I’ve been at the gig for almost an hour, passing families and couples, musicians on their way to somewhere and those kitted out in their most exotic faux Celtic wear, their brogues, their tartan socks and yes, there was a sporran or two, when I realize how fucking uncomfortable I am. I’m in the company of another species and they SMELL WRONG.

I’d been excited! I thought:

kilt sean connery

But I got:

kilts fat guys

This is NOT judgmental. The smell wafted stronger and stronger as the crowd swelled. I was a wastrel, an urchin, among the portly. And the obese. Other than several people passing me with instrument cases slung across their backs, 90% of the people were really, really fat. And not in a glorious fat way that some people are. Because some people are really, really big but whatever they eat, it just males them sexy and curvy. No.

This was organ fat and blocked intestines and bowels that had not worked well for decades. It was milk of magnesia and built-up intestinal gas. Parasites and gut microbiome that had devastated entire healthy inner ecosystems. The vans sold Cornish pasties and sugary drinks, and pastry this and bun-that, each slathered in barbecue sauce or tomato sauce. And the lines at each van were monumental. And everyone wandering, or sitting with their legs spread, on caving-in plastic chairs, or smiling, pretending that this was grand, had food in their faces.

bad fats1

Darlings, is this the unexpected price one pays for being amostpaleo? That one’s olfactory senses become sniffer-doggish? Could we work an airport customs baggage line, do you think?

I just had to attend.

Unfortunately, just this once, I had not thought ahead. I had not packed a snack. So I lined up and bought a cardboard container of char-grilled salmon (shut up about its toxicity) with slaw. I paid and was just about to grab my in-case food when the woman serving looked at me as though I was quite mad.
“What?” I asked, smiling.
“You forgot the sauce,” she said, bemused at my stupidity; my obvious senility.
“Oh. Um…”
“Mayonnaise, here…” and she took back my container, squirting copious quantities of home-made mayo over everything. “There!” she said, proudly, moving onto her next victim.

I made it to my car and placed the offending package on the passenger seat. You know. Just in-fucking-case?

And there it sat, burning my nostrils with no name brand, genetically modified sunflower oil all the way home.

All the way back to the city I contemplated. I realized, that like pheromones, our bodies emit entire scent stories. I won’t make that mistake again. But… I was REALLY SAD that almost all those people were sick. If they knew it, they hid it, if they didn’t know… No, they knew. We’re not talking kids here. None of the people I am discussing would have been under 40. Really sad how slowly they are going to die.

 

Other links here and here

Scrambled Egg Whites

No, not another personally invented recipe. I STOLE this one, but I will plug the cafe.

Kew, Melbourne. My daughter has just moved. It’s morning and it’s manic. Well, it’s LATE morning, so she, her housemate and us happy moving helpers are all starving. We drive to High Street, Kew. To Rox Cafe.

empty-plate
I ordered the Pure Protein Egg Whites (scrambled), with halloumi, wilted spinach and smashed avocado. The menu suggests dark rye but I politely declined when ordering.

It is DELICIOUS! And now I must make it at home. The soft white cloud of scrambled egg sat atop the spinach and avocado so they were both warm.

I cracked pepper onto it and lightly sprinkled a little salt.

I was a blathering mess by the end because it was THAT good. That’s why I’m giving them a plug.

Bon apetit,

Ly x

Fck You Paleo Bread

I mean, really? Why did we start this in the first place? I know it has no grains but question… When is a seed not a grain? Turns out, that when it’s a nut! Nuts are fruit. So, and I’m very interested in your sourced knowledge of this, when is a seed paleo? I sat and thought about this for ages before hitting Google and then Wiki, and we have to be careful. The seeds of pumpkins are pepitas, yes? But the seeds and pips are not the same. You can eat the pips of guavas and passion fruit, but munch on the pip of an apricot and you’re in trouble (despite claims that have no grounding in science).

apricot cyanide

I mention all this because of substitution. The need for bread. We don’t. Just don’t. I mean, do what you want but the more we rely on somebody else cashing in the more rubbish in the landfill and not the compost bucket.

I gave in and bought a Nutribullet, though, and it’s bloody amazing! I chuck in kale, celery, golden beetroot, carrot, stuff still in the garden like beetroot tops, parsley, rocquet, and silver beet. Some macadamias, almonds, some avocado, chuck in tomato and, yes, a radish! And my BCAAs, ginger,  raw turmeric root a dash of cayenne and chili.

Or variations of that theme…

Add water to the limit, and POW! BAM! That’s serious soup.

I pour the goop into jars. Usually it’ll make two. I have all the fats I need with the nuts and avo, all the protein unless I’ve had a mega day at the gym when I’ll need eggs or meat.

It takes me all of 5 minutes to pick what I need, grab the stuff from the bench or the fridge, rough chop it and shove it down.

The paleo bread thing? Well, that’s just bread.

bread

An attitude moment that I don’t have to justify. Seems to me the internet is awash with paleo faux-desert/sweet recipe. Fools gold, lovelies. Berries in season, agreed. But… don’t take it from me, go Google paleo bread and grin.

Keep warm if you’re in Melbourne or the countryside, and keep up the Vitamin D with all this cloud.

Off to down a steak.

Bon apetit,

Ly x

 

Twixt and Tween Weather, Perfect For Rabbit Stew

I’m just cleaning out old websites, wounds, worries. Have been for a month before Sunday. Mother’s Day, btw, I was gifted an hour of crockery smashing at the Break Room here in Melbourne. Seriously works up an appetite!
Serenity (daughter) was laughing her guts out, watching from behind bullet-proof glass. I didn’t miss one hit bcause, lovelies, I tell you, I had some stress to work out of this old body!

Courtney and Caitlyn joined us back at my house, and I cooked a kangaroo bol with zucchini spaghetti. That’s not this. I’ll do that again for you soon. Part of the clearout of wankery, warts and wannabees, however, is even myself; the sad deluded thinking that my YouTube site was okay. Not if I’m gong to do some live work with you soon! Found this. This twixt and tween weather is just fabulous for wild game. Old video. Taste is the same

Bon apetit!
Ly x

AGE SHAMING

Gosh, what to say! I’ve had a recent run-in with a guy who thought to shame me for being in ‘his’ gym… his final bastion of bloke-sweatiness. Despite having been in one or other of them since 1991. I’ve written an article for a mag about it ,so I won’t put it here yet. What I will say, is that if you’re a woman over 50 years old don’t carry goats uphill ,or walk three miles with a staff on their shoulders carrying a bucket of water at both ends, you’ll get osteoporosis. And it is NOT a thing. It comes from sedentary living. If you’re a man (in the understood parlance of an outdated dualist modality) tell me it’s different. I’m really interested!

gym with me and nila

Nila Chandra, there on the incline bench, is in her forties, is fabulous and now living in Bisbee, Arizona. That’s me on camera. Those are pectorals on my torso, not cleavage.

I have a new series coming up soon… a vlog on health, lifestyle, fitness and nutrition. Stay tuned…

In the meantime, chicken, walnuts, raw yogurt, broccoli and cauliflower puree. More meals and snacks to come. I’m simply overwhelmingly busy.

Check this out, though:

Lesson 17: Rock Your Age

FROM “FIT AND FIERCE OVER 40”
BY SADIE NARDINI


I’m 45 years old as I write this. Almost 46.

For some of you, that might seem really old. For others, you’re pshawing me right now because 45 is so young.

I can only speak for myself: This is the oldest I’ve ever been.

And sometimes it takes me aback.

I’m not one to pin all problems on “society”, but there is something to be said for living in America, where youth and perfection is plastered all over magazines, billboards and TV as the ideal.

Yes, it’s changing somewhat. But recent studies show that, for the majority of men polled in the US, even older men, the most attractive and desirable age for them is still 20 years old.

Not twenty-something.

Just out of high school, maybe in college. . ..twenty.

Don’t get me wrong. Twenty is as valuable and beautiful as thirty, forty, seventy. All ages are cool with me. Women and men, to me, are powerful and magical all life long.

We are often and simply not taught in this country how to age with empowerment, confidence, and grace.

It’s up to you, and me, to show how amazing and wild and self-confident and gorgeous any age can be.

So, this day is about caring for yourself deeply, and making sure you do your best to nurture your body, mind and spirit at all phases of your life. It’s also about the fact that we can’t stop time.

So from decade to decade–heck, from day to day sometimes–you have a choice to make.

Are you going to look in the mirror, notice your aging, or imperfections, and let them dim your shine?

Or are you going to stand up taller inside yourself, love yourself up more, smile big and walk through your day like you own it? Which you can, anytime you choose.

Time waits for no one. But you can stop waiting to go out there and rock who you are. . .just as you are. If you’re twenty, rock twenty (and sorry about those age-inappropriate guys). If you’re eighty, rock eighty like you’re onstage with Led Zeppelin!

Age duuna count

AGE DUNNA COUNT

Kindness is so easy.

 

Visiting Dear Daughts in hospital today for a routine gall bladder procedure. A woman, I’ll call her Jane Doe, is in the other bed in the ward, suffering from a really intense gastric infection. She’s seriously obese. She’s gorgeous. She’s sad. She’s alone for ages and not talking to anyone. Eating the crappy whatever-it-is that passes for a sandwich.

Daughts is so lovely and made Jane smile. Laugh. When I came to visit, daughter and I clowned around a bit, drank coffee, chatted and included Jane. She an I got talking. She has Type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and some kind of helplessness I don’t know about. She has a husband, and her two 30-something year old daughters just moved back home. They expect mom to cook and clean and go back to the way things were before they moved out, and had husbands.

We asked why, when they’re grown-ups? Jane shrugged. She was APOLOGETIC like what could she do, it must be her fault.

Jane said she couldn’t stomach food (hospital food, DISGUSTING) and could not shift the weight of years. I chatted on a bit about giving up grains and sugar. What they do to us. How they harm us.

I asked how old she was. “I’m 64,” she said, embarrassed, like it is a thing to be ashamed of.

“Hey,” I smiled, “I’m 66.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Darling,” I said, “You can get better… a bit… Are you feeding the others?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I can’t just have one Tim Tam. I have to eat the lot. I don’t know how to stop.  don’t want to be like this.”

“How long you think you’ll be in hospital?” I asked.

“I’m here for a week, I think. This is like a hotel to me. How do you look the way you do?”

I explained.

And then her husband came. He was supposed to bring her the roast veggies her daughters had cooked. He forgot. He complained about the traffic, the weather, their kids, his job, having to come and visit. She tried to placate him. SHE’S THE ONE WHO’S SICK!!!

So. Back to Dear Daughts for a moment. Gall bladder. Forget the fats. Got to make light. Her housemate brought her their homemade, chicken and ginger soup. I made soup also, chestnut pumpkin with rosemary and Himalayan pink salt. I dry roasted some of it with dukkah.

We both fed a bit to Jane, who had never tasted anything as good. She left the hospital sandwich untouched on her tray. Between yesterday and tonight she had totally perked up. Laughed with strangers. Known delicious food.

Moral?

Be kind. Make kind and caring food. Love one another. Make chestnut pumpkin soup and hug your children but don’t clean up their crap. Age dunna count, we can always turn life around.

No matter what our species.

Bon apetit,

Ly x