The crisis point came with the sea moss. Or perhaps the hemp protein powder? Certainly, when I started adding goose-poo-coloured dust to my breakfast, the unease I have been feeling around food culture deepened. Turning an already drab meal (plain vegan yoghurt, enough seeds to kill a gerbil) into what looked, and tasted, like mud felt more like self-harm than self-care. But, no, what pushed me over the edge was the tiny £2 Marks & Spencer sea moss shot. Sorry, not just sea moss: “High-quality red algae sea moss … high in iodine, vitamins C, B1, B6 and B12.” It was blue and tasted awful, with hints of bubble bath. Of course it did – I’m not a limpet; I’m not supposed to consume sea moss!
When did food become medicine? There’s all the pseudoscientific supplementary stuff, but even normal food has started to feel functional, mere units of nutrition. A tally runs in my head of things I “need” to eat: am I getting enough oats, beans, leafy greens? What about nuts? I cut back on crisps to cram more nuts in and chuck tofu into everything, because neglecting protein is the worst crime a middle-aged woman can commit. I’m not sure I remember what I actually enjoy eating any more. I’m certain no one on earth enjoys eating flaxseeds – they have all the personality of polystyrene packaging chips – but I choke them down daily, for my cholesterol and gut health.
