My wife has a cold. That’s not normal. Here’s the worst part, it is a “Nick cold.” You know, the kind where I usually try to dislodge a lung and crack a few ribs before it finally clears up. But, since this is about me, here’s where things got miserable. She asked me to go shopping. I don’t think I have been inside a supermarket since before COVID-19.
When I finally came out of the store, I stood there in the parking lot just thrilled that prices had fallen so incredibly. (Nah, just kidding.) I had two bags of groceries and a receipt that practically needed to be co-signed. I’m waiting for MasterCard to offer low-interest financing for ground beef or coffee. Seriously, at this rate, my retirement plan will have to include growing lettuce in the basement.
What really bothered me even more than the prices was the confusion. I felt like I needed a dietitian or a legal team to help me figure out what’s what. Between the hydrogenated fats, dyes and cellulose (wood pulp) in the supplemental Italian cheese, you can’t be too careful.
When I was a kid, food was simple. We had a garden. We ate vegetables. If something didn’t grow in our yard or in the neighbor’s yard, we didn’t eat it. We never heard of gluten, seed oils, inflammatory responses, or rock-hard hot house tomatoes sprayed with a ton of bug insecticide. We ate what was available, canned the rest, and then went outside and burned it off by riding around on our bikes without helmets. (Our philosophy was: We put the us in dangero-us.)
This trip to the grocery store felt like a psychological experiment. One aisle specializes in the fats that can kill you. The next aisle has the fats that can save you. A third aisle has sugar products that can help tumors grow, while the very next aisle sells organic, non-GMO, cruelty-free, emotional support cookies for $9.99 each.
First, fat was the enemy. Then carbs. Then salt. Then sugar. Then gluten. Finally, bottled water with micro-plastics. That headline will read: “Drinking water leads to aging and death.”
For a decade, I was on a no-added-fat vegetarian diet. I ate low-fat everything – low-fat cookies, low-fat ice cream and low-fat cookies. If it didn’t taste like packing material, there was something wrong with it. My rule was, if the dog won’t eat it, I won’t eat it. I lost all joy, but also managed to gain weight. That was an impressive medical breakthrough.
My mother watched this and said, “You’re eating too much fake food.”
Eggs were bad – for years they were treated like cholesterol hand grenades. Now eggs are good again. I swear I can hear my daughter’s chickens laughing when I walk by their coop.
When I was a kid, the marketing companies convinced us that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Now, it doesn’t seem to matter.
Then there’s salt. Salt is bad. Except when it’s not. My doctor told me to reduce sodium, which I agreed to do right after I pulled those pins out of my eyes.
The real problem is ultra-processed food. But no one wants to hear that because ultra-processed food is delicious, convenient and emotionally available. They paid those scientists a bundle of money to perfect it, to make it addictive, to make sure you couldn’t eat just one. That fake food never judges you. It’s always there. You never hear that bag of chips say things like, “Are you sure you need another one?” It says, “We’re friends, Nick. You’ve had a long day. Let’s just not talk about it.”
Meanwhile, there are now entire aisles devoted to things we can’t pronounce. You can’t pick up a box without seeing an ingredient list that is longer than the Declaration of Independence.
Let’s face it, we replaced real food with chemistry and then we hired influencers to explain it.
The irony is that we all know what we need to do. We need to eat real food, move a little and get a good night’s sleep. But no one is building a billion-dollar company around that idea. Can you imagine the advertising from that venture capital firm, “Eat reasonable portions and exercise.”
So here’s the plan: Go back to basics. Try to eat food your grandmother would recognize, ignore the latest food headlines and enjoy every bite.
And if prices keep rising, a backyard garden may be the only non-computer chip growth stock left.




